


My Heart Seems To Like You A Lot

by hiimraen (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst and Humor, Multi, Shameless!Stiles, Singing!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/hiimraen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where everybody's human, and nothing hurts.</p><p>Also, the fire never happens, Stiles and the crew are all in their 20's, and Derek Hale is the good kind of douche bag. </p><p>Oh, and Derek also sings in this one. And Stiles is so much in love with him at first encounter.</p><p>WARNING: ABANDONED WORK</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happen when you have a friend like [Kailany_Aurora](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kailany_Aurora/pseuds/Kailany_Aurora). She made you write stuff.
> 
> Also, I blame Maroon 5 for [this song, Sad](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovP1XkecXrk). Listening to this song, repeatedly, causes my brain to come up with a ficlet where Stiles went to a bar and Derek was performing this song, on stage, and then after the song, Stiles approached him, "Wow, sad story, bro. Wanna tell me?" Snark and growls ensues, which leads to a dinner that Stiles think "will definitely makes you less grumpy." Also, that dinner, it is a home-made dinner, at Derek's request.
> 
> But of course, that only happens in my e-mail ping pong with Jenny. Here it becomes a full-blown fic. This sucks.
> 
> Anyway, this is my first attempt at a Teen Wolf fanfic, and I would really like to hear your thoughts on this. I think this might be something like a 10-chapters fic, and also could have a constant one update per week? Maybe. I've planned out the first 5 chapters though, so yeah. 
> 
> Reviews and comments are very much appreciated.
> 
> Oh, and if OOC-ness is a no-no for you, heads-up: A very smily, very smarmy Derek in this one. I blame the lack of fire!incident. Whatever.

 

 

The first thing that caught Stiles’ eyes when he entered the bar was the stage set up at the corner near the window overlooking the street. There was nobody on the stage – yet, hopefully – although there is a chair, an old and worn out drum set and a cajon, with a few microphone stands here and there sans the microphones. The lightings made the stage looked something like it was being lit with natural lighting, a barely there soft glow of light causing the whole set up to stand up in the warm, dim lighted bar.

 

Stiles walked up to the bar, avoiding some merrily drunk patrons who were singing some old songs that he didn’t know – which honestly, is quite _odd_ , what with Stiles is the kind of kid who listened to that kind of music, it’s in his iTunes, for fuck sake – before settling himself on a stool with a few more empty stools around him; not that the bar is congested or anything, but the empty seats actually help create this illusion of him waiting for some friend or something – it works all the damn time when he needed to be alone.

 

The bartender didn’t immediately saw him, but that was okay. Because Stiles wasn’t here to get drunk the second he hits the bar; he’s here to just clear his head, he guessed. He wasn’t even sure _why_ , but it probably got everything to do with living with Scott. Staying in the same house with your best friend can sometime – or honestly, _most_ of the time – be frustrating.

 

Not to mention dull.

 

And tiring.

 

And _messy_ , good Lord, it’s like Scott don’t know a thing about keeping his room clean. Now Stiles can really appreciate all the those times when Mrs. McCall came barging into her son’s room with orders to clean up and put his dirty (and _smelly_ ) clothes in the laundry basket, with a side note of ‘I’m not your slave Scott, thank you’.

 

Which is why he’s here; at the exact opposite side of the town, a good half a mile away from the apartment. And just for the record, this is so not a Stiles-only problem – Scott probably is feeling the same thing as Stiles is (note the _probably_ ) and had definitely ran out of the house the moment Stiles stomped out of it all rebellious teenager style, which is the exact moment the metaphorical shit hit the always-spinning not-so-metaphorical fan of tension.

 

Stiles dug through his pocket for his phone, and when he took it out, there were no messages nor calls from anybody – especially none from anybody named Scott McCall. Stiles let out a heavy sigh and placed his phone on top of the counter. And if he did it forcefully, well, it’s his phone, and his problem, and nobody here is ever going to care if he did. Righ –

 

“I wonder what that phone did wrong to you. Did it broke down again?”

 

Stiles took a really fast turn to his right – the source of that deep, gravelly voice – he was sure he gave himself a whiplash. A young guy sat two seats away from Stiles, body angled towards him, and _oh my God_ …

 

A young, Tall, Dark, and Totally Stiles’ Type.

 

_Oh my God._

“Oh my God,” Stiles said, eloquently really, but of course, given the type of person who was sitting in front of him, it might actually sounded something like incoherent. But he didn’t care; even the Mr. Hotty Pants in front of him didn’t care, given the small smile that was forming on his lips.

 

That is one amazingly beautiful smile.

 

Bottom jaw, meet floor.

 

“Um…” Stiles tried again, because really, since the man didn’t scramble off his seat the moment Stiles practically gaped at him, he is probably worth a conversation or two – that is literally how Stiles made new friends nowadays. Or how he kept some of his newly made friends. That is _exactly_ how he decided that he wanted to keep Scott as his best friend, after all these years anyway – Scott never run away whenever Stiles just gape at him or sputtering shits and blabbering.  

 

Mr. Hotty Pants, seeing Stiles being speechless and all, did something with his eyebrow and pointed to Stiles’ phone on the table, “Phone?” Stiles sputtered a little, nervously laughing and waving his hand alarmingly in front of his face, “Pft, phones – right.  I mean, no, this phone is working perfectly fine. In fact, this phone is _so fine_ that I am bewildered by the notion that this phone can even be broken in the first place. Like, broken? What’s that? Oh my God I’m sputtering shits and blabbering, I should stop right now, stop right now Stiles, you’re scaring Mr. Hotty Pants here, _oh my God_ , I’m shutting up now.” 

 

Mr. Hotty Pants – _oh my God, he really needs a name, NOW!_ – even have the nerve to actually chuckled at Stiles’ sputtering, which indicates so many things and Stiles should really not read into it that much, ‘cause seriously, there’s only one thing for sure down that road, and that is an epic case of blue balls. Stiles determinedly turned his head back, only to meet the bartender.

 

And oh boy – is the bartender not amused to see Stiles drooling on Mr. Hotty Pants right here? Well, fuck you, Mr. Bartender.

 

“The name’s Brian – and fuck you too. Drinks?”

 

Stiles took a moment to bury his head in his hands, just to add salt to the wound – that, and the fact that Mr. Hotty Pants is definitely, definitely chuckling at his mouth-to-brain filter failure right now. When he lowered his hands, Mr. Bartender – oh right, _Brian_ – is no longer amused, but have this rather nice frowny face.

 

Probably Stiles’ fault, but whatever.

 

“Can I get a beer?” Stiles asked, because well, if anything else fails, he might as well get a beer out of all of the misery that he cashed in tonight. Brian simply sighed, like he was totally disappointed at Stiles’ lack of creative liquor order, and went towards Mr. Hotty Pants, all the while muttering under his breath, “can I get a beer?” tone _clearly_ mocking. Stiles – who had demonstrated time and again his lack of mouth-to-brain filter – picked that mock up.

 

“I heard that!” Stiles unnecessarily shouted.

 

Brian didn’t even throw a glance at Stiles, simply saying, “Whatever, kid.”

 

Stiles should feel offended by that – he’s 22, _fuck you_ so much, Brian – but he can’t help but notice the way Mr. Hotty Pants were smiling to Brian – a small smile, friendly, even – before ordering a glass of rum on rocks. After that there was a comfortable silence as Brian made their drinks: nobody said anything, Stiles’ phone didn’t ring, the patrons were no longer singing like there’s no tomorrow. It wasn’t long before Brian slides Stiles’ drink towards him and carried Mr. Hotty Pants’ to him.

 

What the fuck, double standard much?

 

Stiles made a face and quickly gulped half of his glass. He’ll forever insist that the beer glass that all the bars are using are so small, they should definitely use a tall glass, like a German beer glass. That would be one of a hell satisfying drink, _ever_.

 

Stiles didn’t even have the chance to put his glass back on the counter when Mr. Hotty Pants pulled Stiles back into reality from his internal debate on glass size. “So…”

 

Stiles made a show of slowly placing the glass back before carefully turning in his seat to face the guy – there’s no need to literally fall off his stool just because Mr. Hotty Pants here wanted to have a conversation, right? That guy was still facing forward, his eyes glanced through the bottles lined up at the glass case behind the counter. Slowly, like he knew Stiles was watching every move he made, the guy turned towards Stiles and rested his right elbow on the counter top, his fingers rubbing small, distracting circles on his stubbled chin.

 

“Stiles?” the guy asked.

 

“Huh?” Stiles answered, because, well – he’d definitely remember if he ever told a guy, especially one hot guy like this, his name. And Stiles is positive he never really meet anyone like this, let alone talk to them.

 

The man curled his lips down, a sign of smile forming, before putting on a serious façade. “Your name – Stiles, isn’t it?” he asked.

 

“Oh yeah. Stiles. My name, of course, _Stiles_. Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles replied, dragging the Stilinski longer than he should. He is not sure what the protocol is here – whether he should offer his hand to this guy, or should he just lay it down a little, play cool – so instead Stiles took a middle road; he played it cool by offering Mr. Hotty Pants a salute, glass in his hand. That got the guy smiling, his eyes crinkling at the end, like he is really pleased with Stiles’ reaction or answer.

 

Or maybe both, who knows.  

 

And since Stiles still haven’t known the guy’s name, he nodded towards the guy and said in his best confident voice, “I’ve told you mine, now you tell me yours.” The guy took his rum and drank it in slow gulps. Between gulps, he stole a glance towards Stiles before muttering under his breath, “Pants.”

 

_Pants. Oh his name really is Pants. I wonder what his first –_

_Wait._

“What?”

 

“The name’s Pants. _Mr._ Hotty Pants.”

 

“ _Oh my God!”_ Stiles exclaimed, turning and banging his head on the counter top while Mr. Ha-Ha I’m Fucking Funny was trying to hide his laughs, like somebody would kill him if he laughed out loud.

 

Well, Stiles _might_ kill him if he did. Lucky him, he got the looks – Stiles find it hard to kill beautiful people, male or female.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Turns out to be, _Derek Hale_ is an asshole – although one might argue that he is a very _hot_ asshole – and he apparently feed off Stiles’ misery.

 

Stiles went back later that night, the night easing into the early morning, with a bright, huge smile on his face he probably looks like a lunatic. Or a really drunk person, but that is justifiable, he actually did just got out of a bar, for God’s sake. The walk back to his Jeep didn’t seem hard, nor was he swaying, but frankly speaking, he never felt this lightheaded before. It’s like he’s drunk from something, but sober enough to know that that something is definitely non-alcoholic. His Dad would be proud of his not-drunk but drunk son.

 

When he reached his shared apartment, he saw Scott seating on the couch, a goofy smile plastered on his face. Stiles chose not to deal with Scott tonight, lest his awesome afterglow turned sour and he suddenly went from not-drunk to definitely drunk in .05 second.

 

The next morning though, Stiles found out that Scott found his ‘true love’, as elaborately explained by the clearly love-drunk Scott, on a bar the other side of the town. Her name is Allison – Allison Argent – and according to Scott, she is everything that he needed in this life.

 

(Stiles tried telling him that no, she is clearly not what he needed in this life, that there are tons of other stuff that he’ll be needing, like this bag of flour for the pancakes that Stiles is making, but try telling that to a goofy-faced Scott and see if he paid enough attention to hear the rest of your speech before he sighed happily and stared at the distance like he can see his Allison from here, _jeez_ )

 

Stiles most definitely does not felt some tingling thingy down in his stomach when he remembered Mr. Hotty Pants – no, it’s _Derek_ , Derek Hale – but well, he dare not think about that now. What he rather think about now is the fact that Scott is playing with his food, still wearing that love-struck face and dude, that is just rude, don’t play with your food Scott.

 

 


	2. Things You Never Told Me (Before)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stage, light, Derek.
> 
> Also, a flustered Stiles and smart-ass Scott abound! Aww yes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh.
> 
> First of all, _kill me_! This whole writing thing is a challenge, both to my sanity and also my general knowledge. I think Jenny is one e-mail away from launching a nuclear to my home via my IP address like the hacker!Danny that she is. Ohmaigawd.
> 
> Anyway forgot to mention that the main title, My Heart Seems To Like You A Lot, is actually taken from this lovely song by the ever beautiful Yuna. The song is [Bad Idea](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2wH4mhHrF0), go check it out, it'll make you fall in love with her. 
> 
> Another thing, I noticed that it is Monday, people. (In the US. At my place we're already Tuesday. I guess we have Tuesday's Blues here.) So, in the spirit of this Monday, I give you this chapter to help ease the wait, even if for a little bit. Also, enjoy your Monday while you still can, I bet tonight's going to kill us all emotionally.
> 
> The chapter summary pretty much sums it up. So, forward, noble steed!

 

 

The paper is tomorrow.

 

(It is not much of an exam, more like a test really, but the lecturer insists that they should seat for the paper. “If,” the lecturer said, before the end of the class, his voice breaking the noises of people packing to leave, “in the worst case scenario, you guys, I don’t know, _failed_ the final year paper, I will consider adding the marks from tomorrow’s paper.” Some of the guys whooped at hearing that, some even started rambling about how they are _so_ going excel the paper since they only half-way through the syllabus and all that, when the lecturer shouted on top of his lungs, “ _If_ , guys, I said if.”

 

But by then, most of the guys already planned some outrageous party-of-the-year thing were they invited everybody that they deemed worthy enough to attend that party. Stiles probably won't get invited. Whatever.)

 

Stiles plopped back to his bed, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. He had literally locked himself up the entire weekend: he had stayed in, and refused any sort of invitation that is not for academic purposes. (“No, Scott, Skyrim is not educational, are you even listening to yourself, oh my _God_!”) He was not even sure what properly cooked meal he had had for the last 3 days. Heck, he's not even sure what properly cooked meal _Scott_ had for the last 3 days.

 

Anyway, he is done with the studying. He really can't think of anything else to read. He had read the text book, plus the few recommended texts and articles that the lecturer had listed out. Stiles even took his time to decipher what notes/doodles he made during classes all Saturday in the name of studying. After he had done that, Stiles had tried to lift his mood up so that he can go for Round #312 (he's not that sure about the number of round, but that's pretty much sums it up) - Stiles had danced (Spice Girls - Wannabe), he had wrestled his chair (Chair – 2:Stiles – 1), he had called his Dad just so that he can bother him ("Stiles, can you please, _please_ , for the love of God, go bother someone else? And no, I am _not_ discussing the current case with you, what the hell, Stiles?"). Stiles even tried watching some gag videos in YouTube (2 Girls 1 Cup reaction videos) but even that got him nowhere near 'cheered up'. And still he was bored beyond his mind.

 

Stiles sighed again, for good measures, rubbing the heel of his hands on his eyes, the pressure a calming balm to his tired mind. But even after that, Stiles don't know what to do. "Oh my God." Stiles whined, his head bobbing along with the bed when he slammed both of his hands on the mattress. "I'm bored, I'm bored, I'm bored, I'm bored..."

 

After what felt like an eternity - or five minutes, whether you asked Stiles or the clock on the wall - Stiles decided that he could do himself a favor by getting out of his room. Determined, Stiles slowly crawled out of his bed, taking slow, measured steps towards the door. His bedroom door opened slowly, no longer creaking - he had changed it the moment the creaking went from 'oh, it's creaking' to 'OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!' whenever Stiles was awake in the middle of the night.

 

The apartment that he shared with Scott isn't that big.

 

Comfortable? Maybe.

 

Spacious? You’d be surprise what two boys can collect in a short span of times.

 

It has three bedrooms, which after they both take one each, left only one room for a guest room. But since both of them are boys - or man, depending on who you asked really - they turned that room into their personal game room. The game room is pretty much a very neat room. They bought a sweet 42’’ plasma screen from a yard sale back in Beacon Hills for like a really bargained price and mounted it high up on the wall. Stiles hooked that TV to his Xbox and PS3, while Scott put his Wii that he got from the same yard sale aside - in case if they are bored gunning people down or slaying monsters and are in mood for some healthy fitness session. That is, _if_ they ever get bored.

 

They didn't really want to make a guest room, not because they are not expecting any guess or anything, but in case that there are guess coming around, Stiles is more than okay with giving up his bedroom for that guess and maybe crash with Scott.

 

But…now since Scott has a girlfriend (maybe), Stiles has to crash on the couch.

 

God, damn it!

 

Lucky him, that couch is one of a hell comfortable couch. Small mercies, really.

 

The apartment, as comfortable as it gets, is actually one of the many property that Stiles' Aunt Meg owns. She and Mom used to hang out a lot, like for brunch and tea times and sometimes even for late night supper when Dad is doing some overnight at the station. Although from what Stiles know about his Mom's family, Aunt Meg is not that close a relative. But Mom is Mom, and she tends to know who is worth making a close friend with and who is only worth making contact with every other festive seasons.

 

Anyway, since Mom and Aunt Meg are really close, the moment Stiles received his Stanford acceptance letter, Aunt Meg was already calling him, asking about which college his going to and after that whether he had planned out where he's going to stay. When Stiles said Stanford and that he had nowhere in his mind, yet, she quickly offered him an apartment. At first, all Stiles could do was gaped, and boy, did he do well in gaping. He gaped so hard that Aunt Meg had to call him twice, and that only got her a head shake and a very long 'um'.

 

Anyway fast forward to current day, now Stiles is staying in this nice and lovely apartment – _for free,_ mind you – and he is staying here with Scott, his best-est yet yuckiest friend in the whole world. Honestly, Stiles didn't even know that Scott was planning on going to Stanford too, but then, not half an hour later after Stiles was done talking to Aunt Meg with a promise to call her later to confirm stuff, Scott burst into his room waving his copy of acceptance letter.

 

They even did a stupid victory dance all over the room together, but no one else has to know about that.

 

The house was suspiciously silent – Scott is not that much of a creepy, stalking, silent-ninja type – and the only light was coming from the kitchen. Stiles quickly made his way there, glancing towards the microwave, where a bright red 21:30 was flashing. On the fridge was a note,

 

 

Hey bud!

 

I'm going out with Allison. She actually invited me out for dinner! So COOL, right?

 

Anyway I tried to ask you out, too, but I heard Wannabe blasting through your door, so I thought better not...

 

Anyway, good luck with tomorrow's paper. I know you only play stupid girly songs like Wannabe when you’re stuck, but whatever, you’ll always score it anyway. Later dude!

 

-Scott-

 

 

"Damn it, Scott. It's catchy, not stupid."

 

Despite himself, Stiles smiled a little – this is the best friend that he chose for life. Scott McCall; goofy, strangely air-headed, have a very distinct jaw line, falls in love with a girl overnight and already have plans to marry her even when the girl probably is not _that_ in love with him, and messy as hell. But this is also Scott – the kind of guy who knows what every little things you do means. Like the Wannabe, for example.

 

(Scott also happens to be one of the three people who knows that when Stiles locks himself in the kitchen and bakes and bakes like there's no tomorrow, cakes upon cakes upon cookies coming out from the oven, that Stiles is remembering his mother, and the best to do for him at that moment was to help him demolish all the things that he baked. Lucky them, these are all Stiles’ Mom’s secret recipe.)

 

Yeah, Scott can be a burden at times, but he is friend, and Stiles will never trade him for any other things, not even his Mom, because he knows _she_ doesn't want him to lose that one person who he loves the most after both of his parents.

 

But right now, well, right now Scott is a little bit of an ass because he went out without Stiles, even when he knows if he knocked on the door Stiles will probably only maim him with his pillow before asking him what's up.

 

Friends, really.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

The night was a crisp one. There was a soft breeze blowing that made Stiles' hair moved back and forth with the night's air – he's glad that he can feel them dancing like this when he decided that he's so past the crop-head era.

Stiles was walking aimlessly around - he had drive for a few minutes without any direction before deciding that the night air could probably do him some good. Within minutes later he came around a familiar looking junction. Stiles looked to his left and right, trying to figure when was the last time he came around this junction. A minute went pass but Stiles still couldn't get a clue as to when he came here.

 

Stiles took a chance and went to his right, crossing the dead road to the other side of the road. There were a few people walking briskly and laughing, the sound filling up the not-so dead night. When a girl collided with him and apologized profusely before she started to giggle, Stiles' nose was hit with a strong smell of alcohol. _There must be a really good bar up ahead_ , Stiles think.

 

After a few minutes of silent walking, Stiles came head to head with a bar. Above the main door was a sign, Red Moon Bar, in old, cursive font.

 

"Red Moon," Stiles read aloud, before some loud laughing came from inside. Intrigued, Stiles pushed open the door, and was instantly greeted with a blast of warm air and deafening guffaws from the patrons inside. Stiles tried to maneuver his way to the bar, avoiding some of the overly happy guys that were short of jumping around like a baboon.

 

When he reached the bar, a beautiful blonde girl was standing on the other side, her cherry red lips pulled into a huge smile. "Hey there, can I get you anything?" Blondie said. Stiles smiled back, looking down on her chest for her nam... _Oh my God Stiles abort abort **ABORT**_. Stiles blushed when he saw the absolutely overexposed, most inappropriate bartender attire he ever saw in his entire life. The girl's tits were practically jumping out of her attire, for God sake.

 

Blondie must've known that Stiles saw what she wanted people to see because no later than when Stiles cleared his throat, Blondie did a cutesy chuckle. "Um," Stiles said, his voice cracking up a little, "can I get a beer, please?"

 

"Sure thing," Blondie replied, before winking and slinking away to get the order done. Stiles blew a sigh of relief. Gosh, he only wanted to unwind, not get winded up more! A few seconds later, Blondie came back with a glass of beer in one hand and a serviette on the other. "Thanks, Blondie."

 

She laughed a little, before flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You're welcome. And the name's Erica." She leaned closer over the counter, and Stiles almost chocked on his drink, trying his best not to look anyway past Erica's chin. "You know, next time, you can just ask for a name – with a cute face like yours, pretty sure people would die for you if you just ask them too." And with that, Erica stood back up before heading off to wherever it is that she needed to go to.

 

If Stiles was blushing then, he was probably having a high fever by now.

 

Stiles placed back his drink on the counter top before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the skin hot to his touch. He started to fiddle with his nails before some guys, drunk probably, started to cat-called and wolf-whistled, chanting "sing, sing, sing" on top of their voice. Stiles turned on his chair, looking around until he saw the stage.

 

And my, my, what a very familiar looking stage that is.

 

A man came up to the stage, his right hand holding a wireless microphone, and the other an acoustic guitar.

 

Let’s just say that if Stiles could let his body do what he want, he’ll be probably drooling beer all over his chest.

 

Because that man? That's Derek Hale, right there, who was frowning at the crowd before seating on the stool on the middle of the stage, guitar in hand. Stiles probably stood out like sore thumb in the crowd; red hoodie, mouth opened like some muscle in his cheek tore or something because it didn’t took long after Derek got comfortable that he suddenly looked straight right at Stiles, and the frown miraculously relaxed a little, a small smile forming on his mouth, before he pointedly nodded at Stiles.

 

"This is Don’t Stop by Fleetwood Mac. For my friend there, and please, close your mouth, Stiles."

 

And the crowd roared.

 

_Oh god._

 

 

…

 

 

Of course there are some people who looked back to the bar and saw that boy – _Stiles_ – with his mouth wide open, staring like a fool at the stage, where, _surprise-surprise!_ , a very happy Derek is singing about thinking about tomorrow, smiling back at the gaping boy.

 

Well, it’s their life, really.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

It was like the whole world suddenly blacked out and the only ones left were Stiles and Derek, and the distance between his seat and the stage. He's pretty sure Derek was looking at him the entire time he was singing. It felt like forever, and then Derek strummed one last time on his guitar and the whole crowded cheered on him.

 

And like that, the spell broke and Stiles was free. Free to turn back, facing a very amused, very evil-looking Erica with the most shit-eating grin Stiles ever seen in his entire life.

 

"So... Derek?"

 

" _Oh my God_!"

 

"What?" Erica asked, shrugging her shoulder as if it is a normal thing to ask a person a question that only consists of one word, and that one word is the name of a person who you probably crushed on for one night but then totally forgot about thanks to the hectic student lifestyle you're in.

 

Stiles scowled as best as he could, and scrunched his nose up like something stinks. "'What'? Are you seriously asking me that, _what_? Why don't you try something else because I am certainly have not one single clue as to how to answer that, Erica." Erica smiled, her index finger pushing her chin upwards, her eyes going to the ceiling: the perfect thinking face.

 

"Hrm, okay then." She lowered her body until her torso is resting on top of the counter, and few of the other guys eyeing her like a it’s a fucking free show. "How about this, then? _Crush_?" she said, splitting the word into two-syllable.

 

Stiles will forever claimed that he does not – repeat, _does not_ – shrieked like a teenage girl when he repeated Erica's question, " _Crush_?!"

 

But unfortunately, there are more than one person who heard his second shriek when a deep, gravely, and very, very close voice spoke directly to his right ear, the exact same word. "Crush?"

 

Stiles flailed and almost fall entirely out of the stool if it's not for the Creeper Derek who, like the creeper that he is, managed to grab Stiles' flailing arm and pulled him back up. Erica, that bitch, merely chuckled at Stiles' expense. Derek took a moment to see if Stiles is seated correctly, squeezing it just a fraction tighter before letting it fall to Stiles' side. "Stiles," he said, his voice suspiciously low, like he didn't want anybody – or maybe, Erica – to know that he knows Stiles.

 

_Weird_.

 

"So," Derek said, his eyebrow suddenly drawn closer to each other, like some invisible fingers pinched them together. "What's this 'crush' you guys were talking about?"

 

Erica laughed a little at that, her cheeks starting to color after all the laughing she's doing tonight. Stiles, like the man that he is, merely sighed before slumping forward to rest his forehead on the cool counter top. "I have no idea," Stiles answered, his voice a little muffled. Somewhere above his head, Erica chimed in, "Well, there's a story to this. I can tell you if you want to."

 

At that, Stiles immediately throw his head up and grabbed Erica's hand that was gesturing for Derek to come closer - probably so that she can whisper the whole ordeal to him. "Uh-uh, na-ah, you are not telling any more lies, missy."

 

Beside him, Stiles heard a very low growl. Cautiously, Stiles turned to his right and saw that Derek was full-on scowling to the hand that Stiles held captive in his. "Um," Stiles said, eloquently even, because what else do you say to a full-grown man who was growling?

 

You’d say the exact same thing that Stiles said, of course.

 

When Derek growled again, his face looking even more pinched that it had, Stiles tried to pull away his hands, but Erica took hold of one of his hands instead, and when linked, swung both of the hands, while she sing-sang, "Someone's mad."

 

Stiles – because he doesn't want to be killed or anything, not tonight – shook his head roughly before forcefully pulling his hand away. "Oh-kay, that's enough. Look, Erica, that customer is hailing for ya," Stiles said, pointing randomly to a, _yes_ , customer who was looking exasperatedly at Erica and Stiles. "And you," Stiles said, pointing his finger to Derek, "Mr. Sourwolf, please stop growling like a caveman, it's rude." That comment got Erica giggling like a little girl, before Derek pointedly scowled at her and barked, "Erica. Customer. _Now_."

 

Erica harrumphed and went away, but not before she winked at Stiles and saluted at Derek, mouthing 'sourwolf'. Despite himself, Stiles smiled a little – well, guessed his stupid baby face managed to get him a friend, that’s good. Sadly though, the smile died instantly when Derek cleared his throat loudly. Stiles didn't dare turn around, lest he be maimed to death with whatever it is that Derek has on him. Probably his teeth. Most unlikely his eyebrow, but who knows, he probably could, because that is one beautiful, bushy set of eyebrows.

 

_Stiles, focus!_

 

"Are you going to kill me?" Stiles asked, because in case if you didn't know, chances are, Stiles can talk his way out of his own death if he knows he's about to be finished off. Heck, he is almost positive that he always talked his way out with his Dad every time he – or Scott, depends – landed his sorry ass into a problem, although arguably, his Dad most probably won't finishes him off, but a hard knock on his head with any stack of papers that he can reach? Most definitely.

 

To his surprise, Derek's frown-y eyebrows went from 'scowl-y mad' to 'worriedly concern' in .15 second. Heh, he even got this sad face going on. Stiles accidentally cooed at the expression coming from Derek's face, before bringing his hands to his chest, hugging them tightly. "Aaw, you're not going to kill me, are choo’?" Stiles asked in baby-talk.

 

That earned him an amused chuckle and also a very high eyebrow raise, which shouldn't made Stiles jealous but inevitably, it did. "You'd wish," Derek said, before taking the empty seat next to Stiles without so much as an invitation.

 

Well, not that Stiles mind anyway.

 

"So, you sing?" Stiles asked, out of curiosity.

 

"So, you observe?" Derek countered. Stiles crossed his right hand to his heart and mocked hurt. "Rude," Stiles exclaimed.

 

"Well, you did ask the obvious thing." Derek looked into the distance, just over Stiles' left shoulder, where Erica was talking to another bartender – a tall, bald guy – who waved when he saw that Derek was looking at their general vicinity. Stiles looked back at Derek, and can't help himself from keeping his mouth shut. "So, you sing? Here? Often? You look like you know them well."

 

Derek didn't answer that question - he didn't even look at Stiles - no, instead he just smirked to the empty space before his eyes, most probably because he knew that using the same insulting answer he gave before is not only rude, but it's _rude_ -rude. First, because he already used that one; second, because he already used that one – to humiliate _Stiles_ ' observation skills.

 

_Damn it_.

 

Stiles exhaled harshly before drinking his pretty much abandoned beer and emptied it in a single gulp. Derek snorted when Stiles sighed contentedly at his empty glass, which in turn caused Stiles to glare at him. Up close, Stiles can see that Derek's eyes were not green – they are more like steely gray with a dab of blue.

 

Also, they are very fierce and very lovely pair of eyes. If Stiles could just get–

 

A loud throaty noise made both Stiles and Derek drew back like they were both electrocuted. Derek sighed heavily before pinching the bridge of his nose, and Stiles saw that the other bartender, that tall guy, was standing on the other side with a grin that could rival Erica’s earlier. “What do you want, Boyd?” That was Derek, who looks like he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

 

Or for Boyd to get the hell out of there – Stiles is pretty much up with the second idea, to be frank.

 

“Actually, it’s more about what do _you_ want, Derek? Stiles,” Boyd said, nodding to Stiles before continuing to stare at Derek. Stiles tried to lighten up the situation by smiling and calling cheerfully, “Boyd! How did you know my name?”

 

Boyd threw a glance over his shoulder. “Got a pretty girl over there, said there’s a cute-y with Derek named Stiles. Plus he pretty much announced your name to the whole world before he started to sing.” Boyd smiled abashedly when Stiles groaned and covered his face with both of his hands. Beside him, Derek grumbled, “How about some _privacy_ , Boyd?”

 

Stiles, face still covered his hands, muttered to himself, “Keep calm, keep calm, keep calm…”

 

He was supposed to unwind guys, seriously, not this.

 

Whatever _this_ is supposed to be.    

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

Derek’s request for privacy only lasted him for a good three minutes before his phone started to whistle Flo Rida’s song and he got up from his stool with a pat on Stiles’ back and an order to stay. Stiles managed to control himself from snorting at that order, but only barely – he did let out that snort when Derek was out of sight.

 

Stiles was only indulging in his own privacy not for one minute when his phone started to vibrate out of control, Scott’s sleepy face with a Sharpie dick drawn across his forehead filling up Stiles’ screen. Stiles smiled, remembering That Night That They Shall Not Speak of Again, before sliding his thumb over the screen to answer the call. “Scott, baby, you didn’t call!”

 

“Shut up, dickhead. Where are you?”

 

“You insensitive prick. I’m at a bar across town, whaddup? Wanna have some smooch sesh with Stiles?” Erica appeared in front of him with a rag, wiping the counter top and making gag face at the same time. Stiles mouthed ‘what’ at her, and she just snickered back at him.

 

“Euw, no Stiles. I have some curly fries for you, since you know, you haven’t eaten since God knows when.” Stiles cooed at that, his face practically melting at the expression. “Aww, you cared. Okay, I’m coming back now. That offer for smooch sesh with Stiles is still open, think about it, ‘kay?” Scott made some more gag noises and Stiles kissed his phone a few times for good measure, before shoving it back to his pocket.

 

He gulped the few remaining liquid from his second glass, and placed it back on the counter with a little more force than needed. “Okay, gotta go. My bro-lover is waiting for me with some curly fries. Bye, Erica!” Stiles waved enthusiastically and ran away before Erica could make any sounds or protest, what with her confused looks and slightly gaped mouth.

 

Stiles pretty sure he almost ran into someone’s back who looked like Derek, but he’s not that much associated with Derek’s back yet, not as much as his face, anyway.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 Derek walked slowly back to the bar area, taking up the stool that Stiles had only seconds away vacated. Erica looked up from the empty glass on the counter top, a small sad smile plastered on her face.

 

“So…”

 

“Erica, please. Shut up.”

 

“Derek, he said his ‘bro-lover’,” Erica enunciated, with the air-quote and all. “With a guy like that, you’d never know what that even means.”

 

“Erica.”

 

“Besides, he’s short of drooling over himself when you pretty much dedicated the whole song to him.”

 

“ _Erica. Shut. The hell. Up_.”

 

Mercifully, Erica did shut up, but not before muttering under breath, “stupid love puppies.” She can bitch all she wants, Derek is getting drunk no matter what.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

Who knew that driving in the dead of the night can be pretty much deadly? Stiles, that’s who.

 

But all-in-all, it was a pretty nice night. He now has his own favorite bar, the Red Moon. He’ll be there every other day; he’s pretty sure about that. He might even drag Scott and his girlfriend along, because he’s a nice bro like that.

 

Speaking about nice bro, “ _Oh my God_ , Scott, I want to marry you and order a 5-storey high curly fries cakes I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!” Stiles shouted with his mouth full. Scott made a sick face at the image, but Stiles is not going to say anything - Scott’s messy lifestyle is worth even worse stink face than his, probably even a Hazmat sticker and full body suit.

 

“ _Euw_ , Stiles, don’t talk with your mouth full. Plus, is there such thing as a curly fries _cake_?”

 

“Okay, _Mom_.”

 

“Anyway, it’s Allison who actually you bought you that curly fries. She said it was for your first ‘Allison’s treat’. She also said there’s probably more to come, which means…” Scott looks hopefully at Stiles, his eyes bright.

 

Stiles looked right back at Scott, his mouth widening at the realization. “Oh my God, she’s going to supply me with endless boxes of curly fries, sweet Lord! Can you marry her, pleasepleasepleaseplease–“

 

Scott quickly turned towards Stiles with a sad puppy face that he and Stiles perfected together at the tender age of 10. “Dude, I was going to say that she is actually agreeing to see me again, what the hell?”

 

Stiles laughed a little, putting a comforting hand on Scott’s shoulder. If that shoulder now has a cheese flavored handprint, well, it’s not like they hand-wash their laundry anyway. “Dude, I know, I’m just joking. I’m happy for you, too.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Whaddaya mean ‘yeah’? Of course I’m happy for you, this is like what, the only girl who is probably sexually attracted to you after Lydia, right? Plus, that was when we were _16_ and that was like _ages_ ago, dude.” Scott made a bitch face at that, but when Stiles nudged his ribs with his elbow, Scott burst into laughter and hugged Stiles close with a hand over Stiles’ shoulder.

 

When they both calmed down enough, Scott turned and made a knowing face at Stiles: his eyes narrowing a bit, a small, sinister smile tugging at his lips. Stiles countered with his personal favorite – his what-the-hell face. Scott’s smile only grew wider – he even snickered a little when Stiles flustered a little more.

 

“What?” Stiles asked exasperatedly when Scott refused to back down.

 

“Well, you came back smiling like you finally punched your V-card, I was just wondering–“

 

“Oh my God, Scott you are not my Mom. Or my Dad, for argument sake. And I seriously don’t want to know how the hell you know whether or not my V-card has yet to be punched. I mean, for all you know, it might have been punched ‘til all that’s left is something like a bee-hive, holes here and there.” Stiles huffed a little after, frustrated that a) he can’t have his virginity issue to himself, and b) Scott has to know about his virginity issue. Also, probably c) Scott seemed to figure something out that Stiles is not ready to talk about, _thank you Scott_.

 

“I’m just saying. I mean, we all know that you have a perfectly intact V-card,”

 

“Oh God,” Stiles groaned.

 

“and that I’m totally okay with that because I’m seriously doubt that my ‘7-minutes in heaven’ with Lydia counts since there was no penetrative sex anywhere.” Stiles stared straight at Scott’s eyes and stabbed his index fingers on Scott’s chest. “You had. A chance. With _Lydia_.” Stiles said, each sentence accompanied by a stab. Scott winced at the last stab, but endured them like a bro, and managed not to swat Stiles’ hand away.

 

Scott adjusted himself on the couch, turning his entire body until he’s sitting on his folded leg. “That’s what I’m saying, you know, you came back and were sporting this, like lovesick face and I thought you had your chance, probably not with Lydia, but at least you did had your chance. And if you did, I’m totally happy for you.”

 

When Stiles couldn’t controlled himself but smile a little when he remembered Derek’s performance – the one that he dedicated to him – Scott immediately picked it up and punched Stiles on his shoulder. “Dude! You totally did, you slut! Tell me, do I know her?” When Stiles glared at him, it was because Scott called him a slut and also assuming that he had any, which is a total lie. But Scott, being the awesome friend that he is, quickly remedied himself by saying, “Or _him_ , I don’t care.”

 

Stiles don’t know whether he wanted to hit Scott upside on his head or kiss him.

 

No, that’s a lie. Stiles knew he wanted to hit Scott, so he did. Also, that second option? _Euw_.

 

Stiles stood up from the couch, not wanting to discuss this inexistent relationship with Scott, but answered him nevertheless. “It’s a him.” Scott made an excited puppy noise and did some half-jump half-twist thing to turn around to face Stiles who was walking towards the kitchen. “Yes, I met him at the bar. No Scott, we did not get it on, we only talk. No _Scott_ , we did not dirty talk, you _minx_.”

 

When Stiles was tying up the trash bag to throw it out, he heard Scott shouted from the couch.

 

“Does that mean that we can have a double-date one day?”

 

Stiles took the safe way and only threw a crinkled up paper bag at Scott’s head on the way to the front door and did not answer the question. But Stiles did smiled all the way until he fall asleep though.

 

_Aw shucks._

_  
_

_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song list:
> 
> [Fleetwood Mac - Don't Stop](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tm0nopK1BQM), [as covered by this lovely lady](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tj3wDpJjnVU)
> 
>  
> 
> [Yuna - Deeper Conversation](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LfCh9IVN53A)


	3. Of Game Nights and Late Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Scott sexiled Stiles, and Stiles took advantage of that. Or Derek took advantage of that, depending on how you look at it.
> 
> No, scratch that, definitely Derek took advantage of that.
> 
> There's no singing, but there's drunken talks about penises and foreskin. Oh, and also cuddling the morning after. Also, Isaac!
> 
> You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read somewhere about someone who don't like OOC people (aka Derek and whoever else) and I am like 'oh noozzzz'. If you don't like OOCs, please be warned, this whole fic is an attempt to figure Derek out in case that the fire incident never happened and he is not a shapeshifter raised like a wolf. Maybe just a boy who wanted to become a wolf, but you know, he's parents are more invested in him becoming a successful businessman or something. 
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> Also can someone please go to [Jenny's page](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kailany_Aurora) and tell her that Raen told her to hurry up with her fic because he is tired of waiting already? Thank you. 
> 
> P/s: I kidding, Jenny.
> 
> P/p/s: No, I'm not.

 

 

 

Scott and Allison progressed like a wildfire scorching through the forest: it catches easily, and it catches _fast_. Stiles can't really pinpoint how long, but if he really has to guesstimate a date or something, he'd say that it took Goofy Scott fairly about two months before Allison is head-over-Jimmy Choo heels for him.

 

Or Air-head-over-football-boots, in Scott's case, but whatever.

 

The thing is; it didn't take long before Allison was introduced to Stiles as “Scott’s girlfriend” by Allison _herself_. Nope, it didn't take long at all, but it did take exactly seven boxes of delicious curly fries. Frankly speaking, Stiles was not sure how Allison manages to do it; there's literally no food place in Sunnyvale that Stiles can find that sells curly fries as good as the one she always brought him, and up until then, he had to actually fry them himself if he wanted any curly fries at all. But whatever – the thing taste _awesome_.

 

Plus, Stiles won't argue much since it doesn't put much of a dent in his pockets.

 

Stiles loves that Scott now has Allison, like  _seriously_. Scott is now even happier that he was before. It's like when you watched a movie and the main character is this wacky, happy-go-lucky dude who met this woman and then that dude went instantly miserable - but in the good way - and failed to like control himself or whatever, and at the end the girl is all like "dude, shut up and kiss me already," and his whole world becomes, well, _whole_ again. Remember that movie? Well, Stiles doesn't, because most of the movies he watched feature a miserable guy who miserably falls in love with a miserable-inducing chick, and suddenly everything is rainbow and bullshit.

 

And also movies and/or shows like Star Wars and (the old) Star Trek, all of the X-Men movies – no, slash that, all of the _Marvel_ movies – all of Batman movies ever created, and also some other random movies thrown into the pile.

 

Wait, what was he talking about?

 

Oh, right, _Scott_.

 

Point being, Scott's in love, Allison completes him (not that much), and now Stiles is happy because Scott is happy. It's like their twins, or birth-brother, except for – you know – they both came from different mother and different father. But even then – even when Stiles said that Allison is the next best thing that ever happened to Scott after inhaler and Stiles – there got to be a line drawn somewhere. I mean, there’s a queue to ride Scott’s Ride-of- _HIS_ -Life, and it’s not Stiles’ fault she falls way far behind Stiles in that nonexistent line for that nonexistent roller coaster ride. 

 

And right now, she is just cutting that damn line.

 

"Dude," Stiles said to the screen, his eyes reading the mission information rapidly without risking a blink.

 

"W – What?"

 

"I told you," Stiles pauses the game once he finished reading it. "Game Room is a no girls-zone. Plus tonight’s Game Night, we were supposed to be playing Left 4 Dead, not me killing space zombies in Doom, what the hell?"

 

Scott, that dick, managed to look slightly guilty for having to dump Stiles for Allison, although Stiles knows that Scott is sorry that he is _not_ sorry. Allison emerged from behind Scott, holding yet another bag of what smells like curly fries, a soft smile on her lips. "Hey, Stiles."

 

"Hey, Allison," Stiles chimed in, his eyes zeroing on the bag she got clutched to her bosom. When he shot his eyes back up to Allison's face though, he saw that she had these sad eyes thingy going on – somewhat similar like Scott's puppy face, but more focus on the eyes rather than the pouty lips and the eyebrows. "Oh, shit! I was supposed to say 'no offense', right?" That got Stiles a snort from Scott and a laugh, albeit a little one, from Allison. "Well, none taken. Curly fries?" Allison asked with a small smile on her beautiful, glowing face.

 

Let it be known that Stiles is not one for manners, be it in front of his parent, Scott, boys or girls, strangers or Lydia. He snatched the bag from Allison's extended hand and quickly opened the brown paper bag to start on his new mission; to devour these _demented curly fries_. Stiles couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped from his mouth at that train of thought. Out of the corner of his eyes, Stiles saw Scott and Allison joining hands and hips and were talking softly to each other, although it is more like stage-whispering since they are not _3 feet_ _away_ from him and Stiles can still _hear_ Scott over his enthusiastic munching.

 

"So," Scott said, rolling the 'o' on his tongue, "what do you want to do tonight?"

 

"I don't know. I thought you wanted to play." Stiles almost rolled his eyes when Scott's reaction was to laugh softly and reeled Allison into the confinement of his legs. There’s a soft thump. "Not _that_. I was talking about playing games. With _Stiles._ "

 

Stiles refused to look up from his paper bag of curly fries at the mention of his name, because he does not want to see his bro-for-life getting all hot and sexy with his girl. There were some more gross making out and then the brilliant Scott said, "Well, apparently Stiles is busy with his curly fries." Stiles remedied that by crumpling the suddenly empty paper bag and throw it straight at Scott's head, where it bounced off Scott’s already-messy head and landed squarely into the dustbin across the room, by the door. "Boo-yah!"

 

"Ow, dude, _rude_!"

 

"Well, that's for getting all hot and sexy when I'm still in the same room. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. I Want to Get into Your Pant...ies, Stiles would like to go and get drunk. Preferably not when he's in the same room with you guys. Or the same house. Or the same apartment building, or-"

 

" _Okay_ , Stiles" Scott said as Allison shook her head and muttering softly, “Have fun.”

 

" _Fine_ ,” Stiles said to Scott, since Allison was nice to him, at least. He got up from his perch on the chair they dubbed as the Game Throne, and circled pass the Scott-Allison combo. " _Too-da-loo_ , lovebirds."

 

Stiles was almost at the door, the key for his Jeep in one hand, his red hoodie in the other, when Scott peeked his head out of his bedroom and shouted, "Say hi to Derek for me!" followed by a very loud, snorty laugh from Allison.

 

"Dumbass," Stiles replied just as loud. He quickly fly down the five sets of stairs and climbed into his Jeep that was parked right in front of the staircase. There's a smile on his lips that lasted him all the way until he reached the bar and somehow Stiles knew that this is going to be a good, good night.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

 

Stiles have been frequenting the bar for about three months now – come to think of it, is the same as Scott and Allison relationship since it first started, which is also for about three month. Although of course, arguably, within that three months Scott and Allison went from being miserably in love with each other to _grossly_ in love with each other, while Stiles and the bar went from miserably in need of a drink there to grossly in need of a drink _only_ here.

 

Stiles dare not think about what those three months did for his relationship with the people he met in that bar, though. Nope. Not thinking, no. Definitely, not…

 

Well, _fuck it_. Stiles is so going to _not_  think about it because there are things in life that you should never read too much into, and then there are things in life that you read too much into _anyway_ and end up being seriously damaged, be it physically or emotionally, that you are probably best be left in a vegetative state. Not that Stiles would wished that for anybody, but believe him when he said that he _totally_ understand the gesture. Especially when the things that he could do without not thinking about involve things like _fate_ and _fucking destiny_.

 

(Stiles would love to blame it to his Dad for his ‘one’s an incident, two’s a coincident’ bull crap, but he'd rather blame this whole thing to Lydia. It was nearing the end of their eighth grade, just a few months shy from junior high, when Stiles managed to not stutter at the _sight_ of her alone, that he managed to approach her and accidentally went on board with the Babble Train and talked for about 5 minutes straight, and somehow Lydia just stood there in the hallway (probably) listening like the proper girl that she is. By the end of Stiles' babble, she must have had the idea of what Stiles was talking about, although at that moment Stiles wasn't quite sure what he’d said and what he only thought about saying but never have the guts to say.

 

Her respond was to simply flip her perfect, strawberry blonde hair, and said, "Well, maybe we are fated to _not_ be together. Bye." Since that day, Stiles was determined to prove to her that 'fate' and 'destiny' are just some sorry ass excuse that losers hold to when they can't get what they want.

 

But of course, a lot have happened since then - and 'til today Stiles is yet to prove that point to Lydia. No thanks to Scott, that’s for sure.)

 

The drive to the bar becomes shorter and shorter each time Stiles drove all the way down that same ol' road and walk that few meters until he reached the bar. Of course, it is more about the concept of familiarity and relativity, since he'd probably be dead if the 20 minutes drive happened to be shortened into 20 seconds – Stiles would be stilled by then. Also, possibly squashed into something gooey and slimy and super major _euw_.

 

It is still early, thanks to Scott impeccable Not-Game Night Plan; so when Stiles entered the bar it was lacking the usual Saturday night crowd. Erica was passing out orders to a couple at the table near the stage, and Boyd was doing some kind of checklist at the bar. Stiles, like usual, went straight to the bar. “Hey, Boyd.”

 

“Stiles.” Boyd looked up from his clipboard long enough to see what time it was, and happily mentioned the time. “You’re early today.”

 

“Scott,” Stiles replied, crossing his arm over the counter and resting his chin on them.

 

“Allison?” Erica asked from behind him. Stiles smiled to himself; he remembered talking about Scott a lot, since he was his best friend, and Allison’s name have come up a lot apparently – many times that even these _bartenders_ knew about her. “Yeah,” Stiles tilted his head towards Erica, who was smiling down on him and petting the back of his head from an awkward angle. “You look pretty tonight,” Stiles said.

 

That earned him a small smack on top of his head (“ _Ow!_ ”) and a little shove on the shoulder. “Jerk, I look pretty _all_ the night. But thanks anyway, unlike _some_ people,” nasty eyes were directed at Boyd, “at least you do know how to compliment a lady when she does her hair,” she said, dragging her fingers along her hair, tugging them to the front of her shoulder. Out of his sight he heard Boyd snorted.

 

Erica left to do her work as quietly as she came, and Boyd continued doing whatever it is that he was doing, and Stiles simply rested his head on top of the counter, letting the cool smooth counter top cool off his head. There was a honk and a shout from the outside, loud enough that it reached the bar – probably someone who didn’t know roadside manners. Seconds later, the front door opened and clicked shut – probably someone who can’t wait to get to the bar, then. Stiles sighed softly and burrowed deeper into arms, the soft chatters and warm ambience suddenly making him sleepy.

 

There was a soft voice speaking from the other side of the bar, and Boyd’s deeper voice replying back, although Stiles can’t really make out the words. A few silent minutes passed by and Stiles was pretty sure he was falling into sleep when suddenly something cold touched his face and he jerked right back to conscious, his body sprung up like it was physically struck. “G-gaah! W-what the hell?” Stiles shrieked.

 

In front of him, half standing half hunching over the counter, was a boy – scratch that, a _man_ – with a washed-out blonde head messier than Scott’s and an even bigger eyes than Bambi. “What the hell?” Stiles repeated again, slowly wiping his palm over his cheek. Bambi smiled again, cunningly Stiles might add, and shrugged as if saying that his work here is done – which, makes a point since that guy is standing over the other side of the bar; it is probably his job to wake up sleeping, drunken patrons, but Stiles is definitely not one. “Are you new here – first time working at the bar?” Stiles asked, the annoyed tone soaking through that simple question.

 

Bambi’s lips twitched at one corner and that same corner was pulled into a half-smile, although it is as wicked as the previous smile. Stiles never knew that there will come a day that he’ll use the word ‘wicked’ to describe _Bambi_ , but guess nothing is that weird in the real world. “Are you new here – first time _being_ in a bar?” Bambi countered, with tone just as malicious as Stiles'.

 

“ _Ha ha,_ funny, how about freaking no.”

 

“Are you drunk?”

 

“ _No!_ Are you done interrogating me, because you haven’t answered _my_ question yet, don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

 

“Yeah, I’m new here. Even then I’m pretty sure there's no bar which provide services for the homeless and needy.” Bambi said, his eyebrow getting all high and personal with his forehead – Stiles may or may not try to imitate it.

 

Stiles and Bambi suddenly got themselves into a stare off, and no one seemed to blink and the whole stare off went for a good minute or so. That’s when Erica came into the scene, almost literally, what with her slow-motion sideway walking and all. “What's happening here?” Erica asked slowly articulating the sentence. When Erica saw Stiles with his flushed cheek, Bambi with a chilled glass in one hand and the general rule of not-blinking, she shook her head and plastered herself next to Bambi, her perfectly manicured finger pocking Bambi's chest. “Sorry, new kid.”

 

Stiles reluctantly tore his gaze from Bambi (lest he lose their sudden stare off game) and redirected it towards Erica. “Gee, thanks Erica, that was _so_ helpful of you, not like someone here who don’t freaking know how to answer a damn question.”

 

“Yeah?” Bambi asked, his tone heavily injected with sarcasm. “What, want me to kindly wake you up first before asking whether you have a home or not?”

 

Erica turned her head towards Isaac at that, her face as confused as Stiles', although less annoyed. “Stiles have a home. He shares it with his best friend, Scott,” Erica said, her manicured finger now pointing at Stiles. Stiles smiled widely at that; Bambi, on the other hand, had this entirely guilty look on his face. “This is _Stiles_?”

 

Stiles felt like he should be offended by that, both by Bambi’s tone and the secret pillow-talk that they have about him that he doesn’t know of but right now he is busy basking in glory glow of this golden event of his life when his name can get him away from trouble. The last time he did this was in Beacon Hills and his father was the local Sheriff (he still is) – and at that time, he mostly get away with things because his father is taking his ‘fines’ or ‘charges’ or whatever that he managed to land his sorry ass on to be personally dealt with at home. This is new, this is different, and this is definitely worth basking in the glory glow of his name.

 

But apparently Stiles is the only one who can appreciate this glorious moment since Bambi and Erica were both having a fight abuot him _in front of him_. Well, fuck his life.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“About what?”

 

“About that he’s the fucking one you and Boyd were talking about. It could save my ass you know, in case Boss' suddenly here or something.”

 

“Um, guys, I’m right here you know. Erica–“

 

“First of all, don’t call him Boss. He hates it.”

 

Bambi made an exasperated face at that, his hands flying off his shoulder as he throws them to the air. “Then what should I call him when this tool is in front of me, huh?”

 

“Hey, I am _not_ a tool, you fucking idiot!”

 

Erica sighed like she can’t believe that this new guy can be that of a fool. “I don’t know, call him That Guy, or the Other Guy, or The Guy. Worst case scenario, just call him Grumpy or whatever.”

 

 _Grumpy?_ “Wait, are you guys talking about _Derek_?”

 

Both Erica and Isaac turned to stare at Stiles with incredibly huge eyes and said in unison, “No!” _Clearly_ they are both talking about Derek, stupid people who can’t lie for their lives. Stiles harrumphed and crossed his hands over his shoulder, his lips pushed out in a pout; sadly though, both Erica and Isaac were busy arguing again, in whispers and hisses this time, so Stiles pouty mouth have no effect there. Frustrated, Stiles turned to his right to focus his pouty gaze to somewhere else, only for it to fall upon Derek’s equally pouty face sans the overly done pouty lips.

  
How is that even possible?

 

Derek was walking slowly towards him, his steps slow but sure, measured, and Stiles’ breathing may or may not hitched, because damn, have you ever had something looking like _that_ walking up to you? If you don’t, then it is probably your most sorry life you’re having here, my friend. Stiles wouldn’t even put it past himself when he suggest that you should request a better life at your next reincarnation, because damn, a thing like this is supposed to be a once in a lifetime chance and if you ain’t having any, than you’re not living the right way or some shit.

 

“Stiles.” A curt nod, and then Derek quickly slipped into the seat next to him. “What are they talking about over there?” Derek asked, nodding his head towards the small circle Erica and Bambi made. Stiles don’t really know what to say to that, since both of the guys shut him up when he asked them and now the person that they are probably having a heated discussion on is within meters away from them and they don’t know shit. “I think they are having a heated discussion about me. And most probably about you also, but I can’t tell, really,” Stiles said anyway, because well, Derek did asked him a question and right now he’s feeling every bit of self-consciousness that he ever owned thanks to his little debate with Bambi.

 

 _Speaking of Bambi_ , “What’s the matter with that guy, anyway? He doesn’t happen to own a name, does he? Erica forgets to mention his name after she mentioned _my_ name and it would be totally weird to call a grown up man Bambi all year long.”

 

Derek snorted a little at that. “Isaac Lahey. Although, I have to say,” Derek smiled – how much smiling that he did anyway; that is to say, very little and very small – before executing the most intimidating once-over, from his covered toes all the way up to his head. He got inches closer and then suddenly Derek was all up in Stiles’ personal space, leaning over the chair, and his voice dropped an octave lower, almost to whispering level when he said, “I wouldn’t mind calling _you_ Bambi all year long.”

 

Stiles was...well, he was pretty much – how should he say this? - pretty much _dumbfounded_ really. It’s not like this is something new, to be honest. For the last three months or so they’ve been having this kind of banter, back and forth about nothing at all, merely for the sake of arguing – something like what he and Scott do all the time but with less food and games topic included, but more on the sarcasm and snarky remarks. But this – the getting all up in his space and talking with that low voice?

  
This _is_ flirting, for sure.

 

Although Stiles would have to admit that the last three months he also had been explicitly practicing his flirtation skill – not necessarily on Derek alone, but that guy seemed to be enjoying his ‘sessions’ with Stiles, so Stiles rarely looked for Erica to practice. Boyd is just too quiet a guy to reply to any of Stiles’ ‘advances’.

 

Stiles was trying to come up with a comeback when Derek bonked his nose with his finger and called him Bambi. Stiles swatted Derek’s hand away and there’s some fast-paced hand turning and suddenly Derek got Stiles’ hand in a tight grip. “Bambi,” Derek said again, although this time the tone was more alluring than anything else. Stiles snorted awkwardly and punched Derek’s shoulder. “Jerk.”

 

That throws them both into a laughing fit and Stiles shot his head backward – since otherwise, he would have to double over and that would get him into _Derek’s personal space_ and that will add more damages to his already damaged libido – and that’s when he saw Erica and Isaac eyeing the two of them. The laughter died almost instantaneously, and Stiles tried to pull his hand away from Derek’s death grip – and _wow_ , that is one of a hell death grip – when Derek huffed softly under his breath and slowly pushed Stiles’ hand back to his lap, before turning to face the two lackeys behind the counter. “What?” Stiles dare not think why Derek sounded dangerous when their somewhat moment together got disturbed – nope, really not thinking, _don’t think Stiles!_  

 

Erica nudged Isaac with her shoulder before gesturing towards Stiles and Derek with a nod. “See what I mean?” Isaac, that evil reincarnation of Bambi, smirked and nodded like Erica just made a valid point. Stiles was about to ask what she really meant by that, but then the sudden silent that fall upon them were broken when Derek’s phone – by the look of his scrunched up face – shrieked some electro tunes. Derek mumbled something about timing and assholes and _Laura_ , although Stiles was not that sure about that last part. Furthermore, he's adding that to the list of Things He Rather Not Think About too, since thinking about Derek talking about a female may only lead to many more thinking that positively may involve feelings, and right now, his feelings is a mess - he rather not make an even larger mess of it.

 

That is totally not worth it, definitely.

 

“I gotta take this one. Play nice,” Derek said, before leaving with a soft pat on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles managed not to reply with a hand wave, but sadly his hand was already halfway up before he managed to snatch it back down, and he really can’t seem to think about a single reason as to why the three of them–  Derek included – decided to smile at that. Within seconds, Derek was out of sight, and that left Stiles with these two devils. “’Play nice’, huh?” Stiles asked, because he can’t seem to shut his mouth even when his life is on the line.

 

Erica made a sort of noise from her throat, something like a groan, before facepalming herself. “Fuck, I forget about the inventory checklist. Argh, Boyd’s gonna be mad at me.” Erica turned and went to walk away, shouting over her shoulder, “Play nice!” before going into the Personnel Only area.

 

“Well…”

 

Stiles jumped the gun, almost literally, when he shot himself up and leaning over the counter, standing on his tiptoes on the stool's foothold. “Whatever it is that you heard from Erica, or God forbid _Boyd_ , it is _not_ true. No, I am not shagging Derek, but yes, I know we are practically flirting but it more for the sake of my practicing instead of, you know, for _fun_ or something. But I did do it for fun. Huh. Anyway point being, no, I’m not anything with Derek. There, you heard it from me, now you can just drop whatever it is that Erica told you and stick with my brand of story, thank you.”

 

Isaac smiled, the action so sudden it almost seemed like it was forced or something, and looked down to his feet. “Well, I was about to ask for your order,” Isaac said, looking back up at a gaping Stiles, “but I guess that explanation is okay, too.”

 

“Well, I…I thought – you know, since you were talking about…about Derek and then – and then–“ Stiles stuttered and suddenly Isaac broke into a chuckle. Stiles exhaled through his closed lips and thumped his head on the cool counter. “Kill me.”

 

Isaac laughed a little more, ruffling Stiles’ head, the movement jerky but affectionate somehow. “No can do, unless if I wished for my death. But I can get you a glass of beer, how ‘bout that?” Stiles groaned in what he hoped sounded as agonizing as he felt. Isaac hummed softly.

 

“Well, I’ll make that extra large glass then.”  

 

Isaac is now officially in Stiles’ List of Favourite People.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

It took Stiles exactly 1 hour and 15 minutes, 5 extra large glass of beer including the one in his hand right now, and two glass of shandy and martini _each_ as per Erica’s request (she’s trying out her new mix, and Stiles ordered for seconds because it tasted _major awesome_ ) to go from happy to drunken happy. Isaac felt really awkward babysitting his boss’ drunken not-really boyfriend. Although arguably Stiles is really not the kind of person you can get awkward with, because he talks a lot and even when he’s drunken he still talk a shit ton and somehow is still coherent enough to ramble about things that Isaac didn’t know people talks about. Like circumcision and Derek’s thought about it.

 

Stiles said that he thinks Derek’s cut, although Isaac reasoned that Derek’s not really the kind that seemed to be concerned about cutting off the foreskin or not, for medical purposes or otherwise, to which Stiles argued that just because he looks like he was raised by a pack of wolves, doesn't mean that he should be a primitive cavemen since it is good for his health. Isaac countered that to each his own, plus why the hell are they talking about _Derek’s penis_ anyway?

 

Isaac was trying to pull Stiles’ current glass away from him when Stiles slapped his hand so hard that Isaac had this latent fear that Stiles might have broken few of his bony fingers. “Isaac, I was talking to you, why won’t you listen?” Stiles whined. Isaac sighed – there is really nothing he could do, and Erica warned him not to feed Stiles anymore drinks. He planted his elbow on the counter top and rested his head on his palm, his face bored – although thankfully a drunken Stiles is not one for facial expression since Stiles clapped happily like a small kid on Christmas morning and proceeded with his whatever story.

 

“So, I was telling you… About – about… Hey, Isaac?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you remember what I was telling you about?” Isaac sighed again; he can’t believe the amount of sighs he released this night alone. Since Isaac refused to talk about anything relating to penises, he decided that lying to Stiles is probably for the better good. “Crush, you were telling me about your crush.”

 

Stiles crossed his arms on the counter and rested his head on them, the top of his head knocking his glass a little, before releasing a really contented, soft sigh. “Crush. Crush, crush, crush, crush... Do you have a crush, Isaac?” Isaac’s hand slipped underneath his chin at that question, and he stared hard at Stiles. “Who? Me?” Stiles nodded enthusiastically, a smile plastered on his face. “I guess so, yeah.”

 

“Well, I do too. I have many crush. Crushes. It all started waaay back when I was at my eighth grade.”

 

_Oh my God, is this going to be long?_

 

“I first met Lydia Martin at the end of my second grade, although at that time I was more into her hair. It was really beautiful. At first I thought it was red–“

 

 _Oh God, this_ is _going to be long. Why did I do this to myself._

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Stiles fall asleep, for real, somewhere before midnight. Derek scrubbed his hands hard on his face, tired even when the night is arguably still young. Stiles is sleeping on the couch – the only one in his office – his head hanging on one of the hand rest, and his legs on the other. He was snoring lightly, the sound making Derek feeling a bit heavy and tired himself. For someone who looks like he can hold his drink – or at least not as lightweight as a beginner – he got drunk pretty easily; must be something that Erica put in that new mix she got.

 

There’s a movement – Stiles was kicking something imaginary – and then he mumbled something about being cocky or something. Derek can’t help himself from smiling at the image Stiles’ making; that kid’s ego can really take a beating and he’d care nothing about it. Laura would _love_ to meet Stiles.

 

There’s a knock on the door, and then Erica’s blonde head peeked in. “Sleeping?” She asked. Derek nodded, and by some unsaid consent, she went into the office and draped herself over the couch, watching Stiles’ sleeping face. “Guy can sleep anywhere, huh?”

 

Derek grunted, not knowing whether she was talking about guys in general or just Stiles – he's pretty sure about one of the option, the other is yet to be sure of. Erica is somewhat enamored with Stiles, he can see that: the moment Stiles left the bar that first night three months or so ago, she was all up on Derek asking him about what they were talking about and shits, even after the whole misunderstanding about Scott. In fact, Derek have to admit, she was the one who got all the needed explanation about who Scott really was, and Derek is glad that Stiles have someone like that.

  
He knows he needed someone like that, Laura and the rest of his family notwithstanding. Lucky him, he has Erica

 

“Are you going to call Scott?” Erica’s voice broke Derek’s train of thoughts. He spied the phone that he fished out from Stiles’ pocket – a very interesting turn of event, really – still and silent, like his office phone.

 

“I’ve tried,” Derek answered, picking up the phone and waking up the home screen, “he haven’t called back or texted Stiles yet.” On the home screen, there’s a picture of a smiling Stiles and Scott in a headlock, the sun illuminating Stiles’ brown eyes, making them glowing and shining with life. _Bambi_ , he thought suddenly, _just like Bambi_.

 

Derek almost slipped the phone when Erica suddenly emerged behind him and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Cute,” she said, with a grin. Derek huffed and shrugged his shoulder roughly, dislodging Erica from there. Erica, not one to take cues or shit from him, simply moved and sat on the spot right next to him on his table, with Derek’s eyes trailing over her movements. “What?” Derek asked.

 

She shrugged, before crossing her arms over her bosom, and hugging them tight. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been your friend since God knows when, and the last time I saw you like this a psychotic bitch tried to marry and then kill you for your fortune.”

 

“He’s not–“

 

“I know he’s nothing like Kate, honey, otherwise I wouldn’t be calming your tits down when you flipped your dick at him calling his best friend ‘baby-boo’.”

 

“He doesn't call Scott ‘baby-boo’.”  
  


Erica snorted, and bumped shoulders with Derek. “You know what I mean.” Derek smiled at her, and slung his hand over her shoulder, pulling her tight into an awkward yet very familiar hug. “I know,” he said, kissing her on top of her head. Erica let out a soft sigh, and nudged Derek with her elbow. “Why do I bring this stuff to myself?”

 

“Because you’re a nosy bitch?” She nudged Derek harder on the ribs and chuckled softly when Derek wheezed in pain. “Asshole.”

 

They were both chuckling when Stiles suddenly thrashed around in his sleep, muttering something under his breath before settling back to his sleep with a sigh, his hand swatting imaginary stuff away from his face and his groin. Erica looked back at Derek with a look on her face. “Wonder what he’s dreaming about?”

  
Derek can’t help the smile on his lips – or the small laugh when Erica made suggestive gestures with her eyebrows. He pushed Erica away from the table and towards the door. “Go back to the bar, Erica,” Derek said.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Erica grumbled, pushing the door open, before she stopped short and turned back to face Derek. “You’re going to take him to your apartment?” she asked. Derek stared back at her, because…well, he wasn’t planning on it. In fact, he was fine with waiting till Scott answers his phone and getting an address so that he can drive Stiles’ back – but now that she mentions it... “Yeah, I guess so.”

 

Erica nodded, her straight blonde hair swaying behind her back. “Thought so. Well, just make sure he’s sober before you eat him or something. Just in case, you know. I bet he’s still eligible to file in a statutory rape case. Plus his dad’s a Sheriff.”

 

Derek pulled his favourite annoyed face – the one that Stiles called his ‘Sourwolf face’ – and did his best annoyed sound – or growl, as Stiles named it. “Go away, Erica,” he warned, although he knows she knows he didn’t really mean it that way. From the way that Erica laughed before she silently closed the door behind her, she knows it.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

“Wha – where am I?”

 

There’s a movement from behind him, a very warm, solid _something_ , with hands – or tentacles, Stiles’ not really sure – that tightens around him, before a very familiar voice (his favourite voice) whispered softly to his ears.

 

“Go back to sleep, Stiles, still early.”

 

The voice seemed to lull him back to sleep, his eyelids suddenly all too heavy for him. “M’kay,” Stiles replied, his eyes easing themselves shut. There’s a deep grumble from behind him, the hands – one pillowing his head and crossed over his throat to grip his exposed shoulder, the other one holding his waist tight into the other’s – tightening minutely, pulling him impossibly closer. It felt like the other person – definitely a person, not a something – was trying to crush him, but it didn’t felt dangerous.

 

In fact it felt safe, even.

 

“Good,” the voice said, and Stiles smiled into the arm pillowing his head, the rest of the world as good as dead to him.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Scott squinted at his phone, not really believing the text his reading from some unknown number. Allison, with her head pillowed on his shoulder, pushed his hand further away so that she can read the text, loud enough that they both can hear it over the sound of morning chaos from the outside world.

 

 

**To: Scott McCall**

**From: (Unknown)**

**I have Stiles w/ me. He drank too much & you didn’t answer your phone last night. He’s crashing at my place. Will send him back after breakfast.**

**  
Derek.**

 

 

 _Wow_.

 

Scott felt more than heard Allison’s giggling under her breath before she fist-pumped into the morning air. “Go, Stiles.”

 

_Damn right, go Stiles._

 

 

_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song list:
> 
> 1) [Neon Trees - Still Young](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-rRRLNgI94)
> 
> 2) [Neon Trees - Weekend](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDfAFpOAhbs)
> 
> 3) [Rita Ora - How We Do (Party)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOOxlVUC08Q)


	4. Morning After: Something Is Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there's nightmares, waking up, and breakfast on bed. Also, surprise foot rub!
> 
> And phone calls. And Laura. And the Sheriff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so apparently real life issues actually span across the world, who knew? (Heh, of course I knew about all this.) Anyway a lot of things to say, so listy-list, here we go!
> 
> 1) HAVE YOU ALL MET MY NEW FAVOURITE PERSON ONLINE? She's [Caristia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/caristia/pseuds/caristia) and she's my new Beta! a.k.a. my only Beta, but whatever. Anyway Caristia can't help but be overwhelmed by her education arrangement now - she's from Germany, I've been told there's some changes made to the education system there - so she can't really help me out fast enough for this chapter, but I promise you, a newer and better, beta-ed version of this chapter and probably the next chapter will be up, so keeps you eyes open, k? Say hi to her!
> 
> 2) I AM SO SORRY! for the small hiatus. Like I said, real life is such a huge deal, I wished I could have internet and everything else for free, but you know, the thing about wish is that you'd have to work your ass off for it. So yeah, so sorry about that.
> 
> 3) LOTS OF LOVE for those of you guys who actually took the time to read this piece of something that I call a fic. And even more loves with brownies and red velvet cakes on top for those of you guys who actually spent some few important seconds to give out your precious kudos and food-for-thought on this lowly fic of mine. THEY ALL ARE KINDLY NOTICED AND VERY MUCH APPRECIATED, YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST! 
> 
> 4) I wish I can give kudos to those who gave kudos to me. Like a gift reply, but instead a kudos-reply, you know? Ok. Whatever.
> 
> This chapter was fun to write, but if you're Caristia, then you'll know just how much changed from the original version of this shit. So yeah. CHAPTER 5 IS COMING REALLY, _REALLY_ SOON, K?

 

 

_Something is wrong._

_Something_ felt _wrong. Stiles could freaking see himself on the counter, but it was kind of foggy – like when you were down with a fever_ and _flue and your head felt heavy_ and _foggy at the same time – the exact feeling that Stiles was feeling right at that moment. It felt wrong, but Stiles knew better than anyone what this is.This is dreamland, and he's seeing himself – his dream-self._ __

_'What the fuck.'_

_His dream-self was talking to Isaac – who was standing in front him, smirking and telling him to go on with his tale, the one about Derek and his penis – but it felt like it was him who was talking to Isaac, it was really him, since he can tell the exact word that Isaac said. Stiles smirked – and he saw his dream-self smiling back, his mouth opening to voice his two cents about their heated topic that night._

_There was laughter then – Isaac’s, Stiles own laugh, mixing and mingling – but eventually everything died down – slowly, gracefully. And within second the only thing that Stiles could hear and see was Isaac and himself – it’s like the calm before the storm.  (Stiles just hope it not some dream version of a metaphorical shit storm turned literally a shit storm, because he don’t want to be covered in feces again, thank you.)_

_Somehow within one second and the other, Isaac faded away, like a mist clearing away in the morning and at that moment Stiles saw his dream-self stood alone at the bar, all by himself – even when Stiles is there with him, even when Stiles felt like he could just reach out and tell him that hey, we still have each other._

_But Stiles did nothing, because this is dream, and usually dreamland has this one rule: No interference from the real world._

_A warm, breathy gust made the back of his neck tingle, and suddenly a smooth, gravelly voice whispered directly into his ear, and just like that, it was Stiles who standing at the bar, it was Stiles who had his knuckles bleeding white in a tight grip, griping the edge of the counter top for his dear life._

_“Want to see the real deal?”_

 

 _Stiles knew that voice – he can tell who it was without having to turn around (this is the voice that have been featured in his many sexual dream escapades, anyway). Stiles got this sudden urge to escape – from there, from Derek, from life, from this fucking_ dream _– he’s not even sure of the reason, it is just an imminent desire to just freaking flee from the scene. Stiles tried – he did – but as if dream-Derek was sensing his intention, he gripped the counter hard, caging Stiles’ in his huge circle of arm on either of Stiles' sides. Stiles was pretty sure he heard the counter cracked under Derek’s grip, but again, this is his fucking dream, of course the counter breaks under Derek’s grip._

‘This is wrong, this is  _wrong_ , it shouldn’t happen this way.’

_“What – afraid of something?”_

_The next moment Stiles was already down on the floor, kneeling, and Derek’s jean-clad thighs were so close to Stiles’ face. He didn't know what possessed him, but with trembling hands, he popped Derek’s pants buttons, one by one, pulling the fly apart._

‘Stiles, stop! This is wrong, Stiles, don’t do it.  _Don’t!_ ’

 _  
__There was a chuckle, an evil sounding chuckle. A hand carded through his hair, pushed his head closer to the crotch. “Come on, go ahead. You know you want to.” Stiles gulped – the real Stiles, his dream-self, he’s not sure, but the sound of it echoing in that deserted bar. The open flap of Derek’s pants was nothing but like a door open to a dark, haunted house._

 ‘Oh my God, this is so me cockblocking myself, but Stiles, don’t do it!’

 

_A growl, and then dream-Derek barked, “Do it!”_

_Stiles didn’t dare to look at dream-Derek’s face: somehow, he just knew there won’t be any face, only a dark space – a void – with no face save for a pair of red orbs as eyes and teeth too sharp to even be human – Stiles didn’t dare to look, but somehow he just knew. With his still shaking hands, Stiles reached forward to the pants in front of him. Derek’s voice whispered softly to him, almost like he was kneeling on floor next to Stiles, “ Come on…”_

‘No Stiles,  _don’t_. This is stupid. Would you listen to yourself?!’

_Stiles' hand slipped into Derek's pants nevertheless and it felt like he was reaching into a black hole – no, it was_  exactly _like he was reaching into a black hole. His arm went in up to his elbow, and Stiles should be freaking out because there’s fucking nothing in that pants, and that’s when his fingers grazed something – something that was warm, fluffy, and surprisingly hairy. Whatever it was, the thing jerked hard, and Stiles quickly withdrew his hand out of that place._

‘What the–’

_“Found something you like?” ‘That is not Derek’, Stiles told himself. The voice is somehow deeper, with more malice than Stiles ever heard more anger._

_A huge, furry arm reached out of the fly, its claws scratching and scrambling at the floor for purchase, and another one appeared, piercing through the jeans fabric while forcibly catching hold of Derek’s muscular thigh. A feral growl escaped from the opened fly and Stiles was shaking harder as he ever remembered doing. Another growl, a snarl, the sound of a mighty jaw snapping at the air and a snout, an elongated jaw appeared..._

_The next thing Stiles remembered was screaming for his dear life as a freaking werewolf jumped out from dream-Derek’s jean._

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Stiles morning ritual is something like this: he would wake up, like a normal person does (although he personally despise morning for various reasons), and he’d take a minute or two to enjoy that brief moment between sleep and awareness. He would try as he might to delay the need to open his eyes, and enjoy that fucking brief moment because that is the only thing about mornings that Stiles can enjoy, the rest of the list can just go and burn in hell.

 

 

He would take in a deep breath, and feel his body coming back online, alive again. He would enjoy the faint thumps of his heart, the tingling sensation of nerves end sparking back to life after a night of disuse, that few second when the warmth seeped through the veins and he can feel it in his skin, the flush on his skin a tainted prove. He would arch his back, feeling his spine curving and popping those kinks that accumulate over the night, how he can feel that beads of sweat pooling in the small of his back. He would then plopped himself back down on the bed, and sigh to his heart content.

 

Stiles freaking _loves_  this moment.

 

But right now though, that moment is a little bit messed up, thanks to his weird (although strangely arousing) dream about  _Derek_ and his might-be-a-beast-penis _._ And well, he'd  _really_  rather not be thinking about the dream he just woke up from.

 

Plus, come to think of it, he kind of remembered being embraced by Derek Hale last night – which is a totally out-of-this-world idea, because yeah, Derek in bed with him? Nah, he rather go search for the Loch Ness monster than believe that. Besides, if there is anything that he could learn from REM dream of his, it would be to not want to get in Derek’s pants.

 

Or is it to actually go and pounce back at Derek’s crotch? Hrm, this whole dream thing is very confusing.

 

Done with his morning ritual, Stiles tossed around in the bed, as much as he could what with being trapped in a cocoon of bed sheet. Well, at least he knows he can trust his own body to trap himself in with the immobile bed sheet while he sleeps like a log. Stiles ended up on the other side of the bed, thanks to his awesome body contort skills and freed arms. The other side of the bed felt warmer for some reason – warmer, but nice. _Must be I slept there and rolled away when I woke up_. Stiles brought his hands up and clutched the pillow closer still to his face, and _damn,_ this pillow smells _really_ good. He’d never knew the pillow could actually survived the onslaught that is his drool every night and still smell this good – it must be because he rarely sleep on the other side of the bed. Plus the embroidery felt really nice on his hands…

_Wait. A._  Fucking _. Minute._

“I don’t own _any_ pillow cases with  _embroideries_ , at all,” Stiles‘ voice a little hoarse and raw from disuse, but still loud in the dead of the morning. He sighed; resigned this time, knowing that it was freaking impossible that Allison would take the time to change any and all pillow cases in their apartment with the one that she made herself, that conviniently comes with embroideries, and the default setting of always smelling nice and homey and...

 

_What the fuck? Stiles focus on the pillow in hand._

 

Stiles heard more than saw – since he’s eyes were still closed – a book being closed and a shuffling sound, before an equally hoarse and raw voice floated through from some area beyond the bed. “You don’t?” Stiles refused to shiver at that because morning voices _does not_ turns him on, and even if he really did shivered, well, Derek couldn't really see him under the sheets, now could he? Stiles pawed at the blankets with his hands, wanting to free his limbs away and Derek was totally being a real jerk by chuckling at his expense.

 

“Fuck,” Stiles shrieked, when he tugged too hard on one part of sheet and toppled himself – bed sheets, tangled feet, maybe an embroidered pillow or two – down to the floor with an ‘umph!’.

 

Stiles chose to lay down on the floor and not moving with his eyes wide opened – although in all honesty it’s more like he fell down (he did) and was shocked by the event (he was). He was facing the ceiling (thank God, he can’t deal with any facial damages right now) and the edge of the bed was visible from the corner of his eye. The chuckling died after a few seconds and in the silence of the morning, Stiles prayed to any deity that his still-young body wouldn’t do anything stupid – like pop a  _boner_  or _pop_ a boner, because that'd be really,  _really_  troublesome. Using his elbows, Stiles pushed his body off the floor and spotted Derek, sitting cross-legged on a huge red couch across the room, wearing a dark pajama pants and  _only_  a dark pajama pants. And Derek was smiling, why was he smiling?

 

“Why are you smiling?” Stiles asked, because well, he needed to know many things and the reason that Derek was smiling happened to be one of them – also, why did he own pillow cases with embroideries? His question – the first one, the one he'd actually vocalized – was sadly not met with a direct answer, only with an even more wicked smile, his lips pulled tight all the way and revealing his impressive white teeth and  _what the heck, Stiles, don’t admire his teeth, look elsewhere, look at his abs,_ oh my God _, look at that abs_.

 

 _Damn_. 

 

A few seconds of hard staring later (Stiles tries his best to grab whatever opportunity he have these days) Stiles returned his gaze back to Derek, only where there was supposed to be a shit eating grin, there’s instead a questoning look – not mad per se, but more of a playful-annoying-childish-anger with the raised eyebrow and all. “What?” Stiles asked, because clearly he had not said anything yet. Unless if he said that last piece about Derek’s abs out loud, then damn. Damn him. And damn his brain-to-mouth filter.

 

“I said, what’s so fascinating about my  _foreskin,_ Stiles?”

  
Stiles should request for a Guinness World Book Records for the fastest blush on the head and chest region, because honestly, his face went from early morning, bed-crested warm to super flaming hot in .05 second – he was sure he was more than _flushed_. To add salt to his flesh wound, Stiles was reduced to stuttering and muttering noises that are not even coherent words when Derek smiled wickedly at Stiles’ initial reaction and Stiles redirected his gaze to the hands on his lap that was twisting and turning the bed sheet in a thousand way while trying to come up with the best answer as to what’s so fascinating about  _Derek’s fucking foreskin_.

 

“I…I, uh, I wasn’t talking about, you know, not about your fore-for-foreskin, specifically, I was, I–uh, I was…”

 

“‘Was’ what, Stiles?”

 

 _Holy shit, when did he get here?_  One second he was one the couch smiling wickedly at Stiles from across the room, and now he’s smiling wickedly all up in _Stiles_ ’ face. Stiles jerked his head back away from Derek’s when he realized just how close they were and hit his head on the bedside drawer quite hard. “Ow,” Stiles howled in pain and doubled over, his hands immediately cradling his head. He heard Derek let out a long sigh, and then suddenly he was off the floor and in the very capable hands of Derek Hale.

 

_Fuck._

 

“Wha-what the  _hell_? Derek, what are you doing?!” Stiles was starting to feel a little nauseous, what with him being lifted off the floor in bridal style and he is very up-close-and-personal with Derek’s chest and arms and  _face_ , for fuck sake. Stiles flailed around a little, his hands pushing Derek’s (nice) shoulders and his legs kicking air and nothing else. He tried to push away from Derek using his shoulder, but Derek seemed adamant on holding Stiles up when he squeezed his arms (Stiles refused to think of himself as some sort equipment for Derek’s morning exercise routine or something, because, _no_ ) and Derek’s hand squeezed one of Stiles‘ bun roughly. Stiles yelped (manly – it was a _manly_ yelp) but the flailing and kicking died down and that seemed to give Derek the idea that Stiles had finally calmed down, because he uncurled his arms and now Stiles have more personal space, in a sense. “Put me down,” Stiles said calmly.

 

“You knocked your head,” Derek answered curtly.

 

“Yeah,  _my head_! Not like I’m paralyzed or paraplegic or something out of sudden. Put me  _down_ , Derek!”

 

Derek harrumphed a little at that, the vibration of it making Stiles’ spine tingling and his back felt like its on fire and Stiles refused with all of his heart on not thinking about the reason why. Thankfully, Derek carefully placed him back on the bed, almost gently. Stiles was about to thank Derek for doing so, but he soon realized that Derek was still hovering on top of Stiles and that that moment was certainly  _not_  the time to be having a late morning wood,  _down boy, down!_

 

 “How is it that you’re not having any hangover?”

 

Stiles was caught off guard for a moment, mulling over Derek’s question, before like a freight train, everything hit him just like that – the pounding from the inside of his fucking head, the blurry vision, the taste of death at the back of his throat. “Oh my God,” Stiles whined, his hands flying to his forehead, trying to massage the pain away, “Why did you have to do that, you asshole.”

 

Derek chuckled softly like he was satisfied that Stiles is not some freak who doesn’t get hangover the night after he drank himself senseless, and rose from his hovering – the bed creaking a little as the weight went away. “I’m going to get you water and hopefully some breakfast, try to stay in bed,” Derek said, his hand petting Stiles’ side a little. If the hand lingered seconds too long, nobody commented anything about it – especially not Stiles. Stiles groaned and told Derek to go away. “You’re making the headache _worst._ ”

 

Derek – that _jerk_ – grinned. “Man up, Stiles. It’s only a headache,” before he slowly retreated away from the room, avoiding almost effortlessly the embroidered pillow that was aimed at his head.

 

Stiles nestled his head deeper into the fluffy embroidered pillow Derek laid him on, trying to chase away the headache by sheer willpower. _Didn’t really realize the headache, what with an almost naked Derek in the same room,_ Stiles thought. It was seconds later that he realized that: a) he’s wearing a matching pajama shirt to Derek’s pajama pants and b) did he really _slept with Derek?_ And also c) there’s no random bodily fluid and soreness in any area of his body, but still, point B was a pretty _huge_ point.

 

He scrubbed his hands on his face, rubbing the remaining sleepiness and haziness away, and stared at the sun-lit room. It was an almost utilitarian bedroom; there’s no picture frames, no memorabilia – save for a table that was littered with books. And also Derek’s favorite guitar, leaning on the red couch Derek lounged on minutes ago. To his left was the drawer that he knocked his head on, and Stiles dragged himself up until he’s leaning on the headboard to peek through the drawers. There’s nothing in the bottom drawer, and there’s some condoms ( _Magnums, wow_ ), some kind of unused contact lenses and pair of reading glasses in the top one. Stiles thought Derek would look absolutely ridiculous and hot at the same time with the glasses on.

 

(There’s some other random stuff, but Stiles didn’t really paid any attention on those guys. Mostly since he kind of wasted few seconds and fried maybe some few hundred neurons imagining about Derek’s cock and their activities when he saw the remaining few packets of condoms left.)

 

Stiles sucked in some morning fresh air, and through gritted teeth, he jumped off the bed and landed on wobbly feet. When he managed not to giggle as the sensation came back to his feet, he spied a closet door on the wall, and instantly he presumed it’s a wall closet – since he had one back in home and also in the apartment. He dragged his still-asleep feet across the floor and to the closet. When he reached there though, he slide opened one of the white wooden doors and he’s suddenly in a freaking closet  _room_.

 

“Oh. My. God.”

 

There’s a huge daybed in the middle of the room, upholstered and complete with the mismatched throw pillows and what looked like drawers at the bottom part of the daybed.

 

One side of the wall was filled with suit jackets of different shades of gray and black and dress shoes of various hue of black and _dark_ stacked neatly in a two-level shoe rack. There’s another set of doors at the opposite side of the previous walls and Stiles thinks that it will probably leads him to the real wall closet that he was looking for, but he let go of the wall and went straight to the wall at the end of the room, which was just, _wow_.

 

At the end of the room, stood a tall display case and inside it was a collection of baseball mitt and balls and one shiny, wooden bat. Stiles crept closer, eyeing the display case with undivided attention – intrigued by all the stuff in front of his eyes. As he reached closer to the display case he saw that all the mitts and the baseballs and trading cards (for real?) and that one wooden bat; they were all signed and each item were labeled with a date and place in a metal label. Stiles reached forward and traced a finger on the cold glass casing, leaving a path of oily print behind.

 

“Oh. My. God,” Stiles’ breathe fogging up the glass and he instantly wiped it away with the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. _This is just fucking amazing_ , Stiles thought and it really was.

 

A throat cleared from behind him, and Stiles jumped and looked back, spotting Derek at the wide-opened entrance – _way to go Stiles, really stealthy there_ – with a tray of food in hand. “Oh. My. God,” Stiles repeated, because seriously, all the most amazing things only have one honest reaction to them and it’s ‘oh my God’.

 

“Are you going to get out of there and have breakfast with me, or are you going to mess up with my stuff some more?” Derek asked, his voice echoing in that dimmed room.

 

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Stiles answered, because  _seriously_.

 

Breakfast with Derek? Fucking awesome.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Thankfully, Derek wasn’t mad at Stiles for going through his stuff – but he did scolded him for getting out of the bed, which proves the point that he is a creep, since Stiles for damn sure can get off the bed anytime he wants, thank you very much.

 

Still, the breakfast was good though, and although it’s just toast and an assortment of jams, it was still good. Plus, he wouldn’t have known that orange juice was good for his throat _and_ headache. Also, breakfast with Derek _in bed_? That’s just asking Stiles not to get mad at Derek for doing everything that he ever did _all his life_.

 

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered softly, since he wasn’t raised by a pack of wolves and was taught manners – even in some half-awkward moment like the one he’s in. Derek nodded, and moved the tray and everything else off the bed.

 

All thanks to Erica’s new mix – and also Scott’s questionable libido – he’s now sitting on Derek’s bed, having done with his breakfast with Derek (who sat in front of him the whole time, just minding his own creepy business while Stiles chugged down toast upon toast upon juices). Stiles curled his legs and hugged them tight to his chest, his head rested on top of his knees. _How is this even my life?_

 

Derek returned back to his spot on the bed, and suddenly he felt nearer to Stiles than before now that the tray was out of the way – Stiles’ feet were brushing his surprisingly silky smooth pants. “Thanks,” Stiles said, almost out of nowhere. Derek turned his head towards Stiles, eyebrows raised, questioning. “For last night, for letting me crash your place. I know that I sleep like a freaking wrestler, so sorry if I kicked you in your sleep or something.”

 

Derek chuckled at that – although in reality it’s more like Derek exhaled rhythmically. Out of nowhere, Derek curled his hand on Stiles’ left ankle, tugging it closer to him, and Stiles refused to respond to it because he can act manly about this, he _fucking_ can. Derek seemed like he didn’t realized Stiles’ internal turmoil about him giving _Stiles’ foot_ some special attention, _what the hell_ , and continued on caressing Stiles’ talus bone for no reason with his thumb. “You’re drunk out of your mind and passed out at the bar, and Scott won’t pick his phone up, and I guess I can be the better man and let you crash for the night – no big deal, really.”

 

Stiles felt something stirred under his borrowed pajama shirt and noticed for the first time that some part of his sleepy body had finally decided that physical contact demands a physical response. “ _Asshole_ ,” Stiles chided his body. “He’s getting busy ripping Allison’s panty off, that’s why.”

 

Derek tightened his grip minutely, before dragging his hand down towards Stiles’ toe, his fingers running ticklish over Stiles’ sole, and Stiles forcedly bit himself from gasping out loud when Derek putting more pressure on his sole equaled sparks of pleasure coursing through his legs all the way to the back of his neck.

 

Derek chuckled a little when Stiles’ failed to not to shiver at that. “Well, I wouldn’t blame Scott for anything. Seems like Scott doesn’t always get some alone time with Allison, now does he?”

 

Stiles huffed at that, “Well, yeah, but at least he can _still_ get some sexy times with Allison _out_ of the house. Stiles is the one who needs some alone time – many many times, in many many different positions.” Stiles didn’t really realized what he’d blurted out, not until Derek chuckled – exhaled, chuckled, same differences – and just then he realized what he’d said. “Hey!” Stiles said, shoving the foot that Derek’s massaging at his thigh. “It’s not funny okay, that’s a sad story, you should be crying and offer me some condolences or something, not laugh at my face.”

 

Derek cleared his throat at that, and gamely muttered, “My condolences, m’lord,” at Stiles. “But you know,” Derek continued, “it’s kind of funny actually.” Derek laughed for real this time, and when Stiles tried to shove his other leg at Derek, he quickly grabbed both of his feet at the ankles and _tugged_ hard until Stiles fall back on the bed, his butt getting comfortable and friendly with Derek’s knee. Stiles may or may not have yelped like a girl, but it was a ‘spur of moment’ kind of reaction, so it was definitely justified. All that moment and Derek’s fingers didn’t stopped working once.

 

Stiles looked up, and saw Derek’s eyes, up close and personal, for the first time. He didn’t know why, but at that time, he felt like he can stare at those eyes for all day long and still be satisfied, it’s…it’s kind of _distracting_. Stiles lowered his gaze to Derek’s pointy nose, suddenly having this imminent desire to have that nose pressed to his neck and collar bone. Stiles moved lower, and saw that devilish mouth of Derek, how he personally knew how the way Derek’s lips can’t really contained his teeth and how sweet and sunny he was each and every time he smiled in honesty or reacted correctly to any of Stiles’ joke and – oh, Derek’s talking.

 

“What?”

 

Derek sighed, and Stiles’ focus was back on that lips. “What’s _distracting_?”

 

Stiles’ eyes shot back to Derek’s and really, Stiles don’t have a clue how to answer that question that was not supposed to a question really. What’s distracting – the situation he’s in right now or Derek’s hospitality? Was it the foot rub or the breakfast? Or was it knowing something about Derek that he’d love to think only he knew, something only Stiles have on Derek. Maybe it’s Derek’s perfect face – heck, perfect _everything_ – even up close like this. Or was it how he felt so at ease with Derek like this, even when he barely knew this man in front of him, this guy…

 

“Stiles?” Derek’s face was so close that if he moved an inch closer, they’d be kissing each other. Stiles tried to push back, tried to burrow deeper into the fluffy pillow, but it was to no avail. _Too much, this is just too much_.

 

Stiles pushed his legs, still trapped in Derek’s warm hands, pushing Derek with all his might - his hands, his thigh, whatever as long as he could just escape this _thing_ that’s happening. _This is not your dream Stiles, this is really happening_ , Stiles thought to himself. _Oh God, please there be no freaky werewolf in his pants, please there be no freaky werewolf in his pants_.

 

Derek seemed to get the idea, and backed off a little, although technically he was still in Stiles’ personal space, and released Stiles’ feet from his grasp. Stiles turned his body away from Derek and as quickly as he could jump off the bed on the other side, the side without Derek on them. “I – uh–”

 

“The bathroom?” Derek finished off the sentences for Stiles, and if at that moment he sounded somewhat mad and annoyed, well, Stiles was too busy trying to get away because this thing? This whole flirting on a bed? Yeah, they’re all new in Stiles’ Life Handbook, and until he’s confirmed that he is okay with any flirting on a bed with a somewhat stranger, he would not be caught dead on a bed with any. Not even if that guy is someone who he wanted to sleep with since like forever.

 

God, what is wrong with him?

 

Derek seemed to take Stiles’ silence as a yes, and he pointed out the direction to the toilet without facing Stiles at all. “It’s outside, to your right, at the very end. There’s some Advil in the medicine cabinet if you need any.” And with that Derek stood up and walked slowly towards his closet, sliding the door close slowly.

 

“I-um, thanks.” Stiles slowly tip-toed away from the room, and once he was outside, he ran towards the bathroom like he never ran before.

 

He seriously in need of that alone time, but with himself first, and get his head out of his own messy ass and _then_ he’d consider some alone time with Derek. Hopefully this one with be shorter that the one he’d spent with Derek, because seriously he just wasted what seems like potentially hours of good alone time with Derek on his bed.

 

 _Oh God, did I just cock-blocked myself? Good job, Stiles. Just – ugh, good job_.

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Derek scrubbed his face with his hands – the ones that he had been using to massage Stiles’ feet – and  _oh God, has he really fallen for that boy_? And did Stiles just cock-blocked him? What the hell? Wasn’t Stiles supposed to be onboard with his plan of getting some ‘alone time’ now that he’s literally on Derek’s bed. And _oh God, he really does want to get into Stiles’ pants_ , this is way too much self-revelation for one morning.

 

But come to think of it, Derek kind of always wanted to get into Stiles’ pants, so to speak. He’d always find Stiles to be cute – way too cute for his age, even – and Derek would’ve known from his own experience that Stiles is not another gold digger trying to get his luck on the Hale’s fortune – especially not it that clothes of his, that ridiculous red hoodie and plaid shirts and his graphic tees. Besides, what’s not to like about a guy who actually cooks? He’d be thrilled if Stiles’ there all day cooking for him when he got nothing else to do…

 

 _Oh God, he wants to be in a domestic life with Stiles, this is_ bad _._

 

Derek perked up when he heard the toilet door being shut rather violently – must be Stiles. He remembered how last night was so weird and awkward for him – even with a passed out Stiles on his bed. And boy was Stiles a wrestler in his sleep – he actually elbowed Derek on the stomach so hard, Derek ended up on the floor, retching and coughing like he was dying – which was the very reason why he chose to help ‘restraint’ Stiles’ wild limbs. They both ended up sleeping calmly for the rest of the night, and somehow Derek woke up that morning feeling beyond well-rested – he felt like he had slept enough for a lifetime after a night of sleeping with Stiles in his arms.

 

Derek finally took the tray and walked off to the kitchen, the morning as quiet as it ever was in that house when it was just him, yet he felt almost like Stiles was walking beside him, like the knowledge that Stiles was here in that apartment, although separated by the distance and doors, was enough for Derek to feel like he’s with someone. _God, I’m getting sappy._ Derek turned on the water tap, and let the soothing sound of the pouring water flow through his mind, letting his worries go.

 

He didn’t really want to think about Stiles’ reaction back then in the bedroom – somehow he knew it wasn’t something that a normal Stiles would do. Heck, all those nights he spent talking with Stiles and dedicating songs to him – sometimes even taking silly requests from Stiles, but only from Stiles – and watching how Stiles kept on declining any drinking offers from the other guys and refused to look at anybody when he’s there should’ve been signs enough for him to know that Stiles was kind of into him.

 

(Not that Derek’s trying to be cocky about himself or anything, but having your bartenders telling you that the (only) one guy who actually enjoyed Derek’s company telling them both to kindly tell whoever it was that was trying to buy him drink that he’s not interested and yet still come to that bar every week just to talk and listen to Derek’s singing? Well, kind of help with that ego thing, you know?)

 

With the sink half-full, Derek started to work on the dishes. He felt silly when he freaked out a little, not knowing what he should get Stiles for breakfast. He’d knew the only thing that he can make for Stiles was toast, but then again he didn’t really asked him if there’s anything that he’d prefer for his toast. Derek ended up bringing everything that he had stored in his fridge, which was not much – a couple of fruit jams, peanut butter, some butter, and a bottle of honey. And he never knew one would actually ravish a toast with everything slapped in together with such… _energy_. Derek chuckled to himself when he remembered when Stiles mentioned about Scott ripping Allison’s panties off. _Guess he must’ve been hungry after all._

(Stiles made it his life motto of not eating anything that was offered in the bar, because he said that the food there was not even as good as his dad’s cooking, and that’s apparently bad. Derek’s Dad’s cooking is _legendary_ , so wouldn’t have thought about that.)

 

_Rrrrrrriiinngggg!!_

 

“Fuck,” Derek cursed while wriggling his hand dry. Derek half-walked half-ran into the living room, the huge clock on the wall telling him that it’s 12:25 PM in black, block letter.

 

_Rrrrrrriiinngggg!!_

 

 _Laura_. With that in mind, Derek searched for the phone – lying innocently on the floor – and slid his thumb across the screen to answer the phone without really looking at it.

 

“Hey Laura, what’s up?”

 

But instead of Laura’s cheery ass voice, an older male voice answered, and really, Derek should really looked at the screen before picking up any random call, because this is just way too much for a morning. The voice said,

 

“ _Stiles?_ ”

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

Stiles slammed the door. Stiles _slammed_ the _door_. “Oh God,” Stiles groaned as he slumped down to the cool floor, his back plastered to the wooden door. “Oh God.” He had seen some stupid ass movie back in Beacon Hills about some stupid ass chick who falls for some stupid ass handsome bloke who always somehow managed to be single for the entirety of the movie and yet still fell for this girl and then they had their first big argument and the girl slammed the door and then the jock left because he thought the girl’s through with him but no she’s not and _oh God, he don’t want Derek to think that he’s that girl. Oh God_. “Stupid.”

 

Why did he have to do that?

 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

 

 _Why did I freaked out, why did I freaked out?_ Stiles kept on repeating that mantra in his head, on and on and knocking his fisted hands on his head. “Why did I freaked out?”

 

_‘Why did you freaked out? Are you serious? Derek Hale was about to kiss you. Like, he was inches away from your fucking cute face.’_

 

“Well, he wasn’t really going to kiss me, I mean, if he did he’d probably cradle my fucking cute face or something. Wait, I think I’m cute?”

 

_‘Stiles, don’t argue with yourself – yes, he was going to kiss you fucking cute face. And yes, you think you’re cute. Not manly.’_

 

“But dude, it’s supposed to be manly, chicks dig manly face…”

 

_‘But Derek digs cute face.’_

 

“Touché. So why did I freaked out actually?”

 

_‘Apart from Derek Hale was about to freaking kiss your face off? How about there’s no date? Remember that rule about scoring a third date first before any kissy-touchy-feely allowed?’_

 

“Well yeah… But we’re both dudes. Besides, there’ve been like tons of pseudo-dates up until today. Also today’s breakfast? Totally a date there.”

 

_‘Well, pseudo-dates don’t count then, and if today’s breakfast a date, then you’ll probably need two more ‘date’s before any kissy-touchy-feely is allowed.’_

 

Stiles nodded despite himself, and felt proud that he’d cleared everything up with himself. Well, as much as he can really. “Two more dates, I can do that.

 

“Wait, does this means that I actually am _dating_ Derek?”

 

_Rrrrrrriiinngggg!!_

 

Stiles’ little dialogue with himself was abruptly cut off, his head perking up at the sound of the ringtone that he’d set for his Dad’s office, in case if there’s some emergencies or – “Oh my God, that’s _Dad!_ ”

 

Stiles got off the floor hastily, almost falling down on the floor when he tried to twist the door open _and_ pull it in on the same time. Stiles managed to shuffle as quite as he could across the excluded hallway, and came up to Derek’s bedroom – he’s pretty sure Derek left Stiles’ phone somewhere in there from last night (one thing Stiles have learned from his past life is that phones are so damn important, you have to have them within arm’s reach at all time).

 

_Rrrrrrriiinngggg!!_

 

“Coming,” Stiles called as he closed Derek’s bedroom door as quietly as he could – one door slamming was enough for the day. He saw the phone on the table on top of the books, vibrating and blinking lights, calling for someone to answer it. Stiles took the phone and slid his thumb across the screen to answer the call without looking at the screen.

 

“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” But instead of his Dad’s stern yet loving voice interrogating him on the start-go, a cheery, lively female voice answered him. And she said,

 

“ _Derek?_ ”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

So apparently talking to Derek Hale’s sister was like a horse ride to hell, or something.

 

“Wait, Laura Hale? Oh my God, are you Derek’s sister?” Because well, Stiles only knew one Hale, and that guy was a Hale of enough for him.

 

“Older sister, yeah. And you are?”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Wait,” she said the instant Stiles mentioned his name. “Oh my God, are you Stiles Stilinksi?”

 

“Wait, how do you even know about–”

  
“And you’re in Derek’s room?”

 

“Um, yeah about that–”

 

“Damn, of course he’s in Derek’s room. Oh my God, are you guys _dating_ now?” Laura asked him, and really, how did she even know who Stiles was, damnit?!

 

Stiles sputtered instead of answering, because honestly, he had just had this same conversation with himself not seconds ago and he’d rather discuss this whole shit with Derek before telling this to anyone else. “Um, I – um, I’m  not really,” Stiles said as he reached for the door. “I’m not exactly Derek’s, you know,” Stiles tried to twist the doorknob, but somehow it refused to budge.

 

“Derek’s what? Boyfriend? Come on Stiles, you can tell me, I’m his sister!” Laura’s voice sounded honest enough, but one thing Stiles knew about female is that voice that sounded honest does not equate to that person being really honest – female and all the other people who are not honest.

 

“Oh my God, doorknob! No, I am not Derek’s – ack! – _boyfriend!_ ” That last part probably came out as a shout, as the door that Stiles was trying to open suddenly banged to his toes and Derek’s (handsome) face suddenly appeared in front of him, holding his phone, oh my God, who is he talking to?

 

“Stiles?” Laura called for him, but Stiles paid no attention to her when Derek’s in front of him and had a very confused face on. Stiles was still hopping on one foot, the other held firmly in his hand, while his other hand were trying to juggle between holding the phone to his ears and finding something to hold on to, lest he fall to his butt.

 

“Yes, sir.” That’s Derek, and oh God, answering to his Dad. “Is that Dad?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking at the end out of sheer… _something_. The kind of something when your Dad called and someone who you are hoping to be dating was the one who answered instead.

 

Derek nodded, but to the phone he said, “Yes, he’s in front of me, sir.” Derek’s face then scrunched up a little, and Stiles knew he personally wouldn’t like to know what Dad’s trying to tell Derek.

 

“Yes, sir. I know sir.” A pause. “Yes, sir knowledge is important.”

 

_Wait, what? Knowledge?_

 

“Stiles, is that Derek? Why is he talking about knowledge? Stiles!” Laura’s voice was loud enough that Stiles can still hear her even with the phone clutched to his chest, his whole body balanced on one foot (the other one was inches away from the floor now) and his other hand on the opened door.

 

“Is that a–” A _what? Oh my God, why is Derek’s smiling?_ “Okay sir.” Another pause.

 

“Yes, sir, I’ll remember every word you’ve said to me. Yes, sir, he’s still here,” Derek said, eyeing Stiles’ person up and down before smiling lewdly at him. “Sure. Um, sir? Thank you.”

 

And with that, Derek shoved Stiles’ phone to his chest, bowing down a little to whisper directly to Stiles’ ear, “Your Dad.” Stiles looked up when Derek backed away. “Thanks,” Stiles replied, sounding something like he was hypnotized – or maybe just way too dumbfounded by what happened in that few seconds. “And I believe,” Derek freaking _purred_ , his hand slowly inching towards Stiles’ chest, “that this is mine.” He plucked his own phone from Stiles’ clutch, and chuckled when Stiles _finally_ figured out what he was talking about. “I’ll leave you and your Dad. I’ll be in the living room in case of anything.” And with that, Derek pulled the door closed and Stiles was left in the bedroom alone, his mouth in an open state, and he’s eyes unblinking.

 

He was broken from his reverie when he heard Dad’s loud voice screaming for him from the phone in his hand – _huh, when did that got here?_

 

“Stiles, for God’s sake…”

 

Stiles brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, Dad, what’s up? Wait, _this is_ you right?” Stiles pushed his phone away for a second and checked that, yup, that was really his Dad. Over the line, he heard his Dad sighed, and what sounded like an abused pen being slammed on the desk.

 

“Stiles?”

 

“Yeah, Dad?”

 

“Do we need to have any talk about anything?”

 

Stiles choked on his own saliva – the one that he was about to waste on explaining that Derek is not his boyfriend and they are not dating, yet; he’s only about to get them to that stage. Instead, he gamely put his whiny voice on and groaned to the phone.

 

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!”

 

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

 

“Wait, let me guess: You actually now have the permission to date Stiles from his freaking Dad, didn’t you?”

 

“Shut up, Laura.”

 

“That’s my big boy.”

 

“Laura…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song inspired for this chapter. 
> 
> [Casey Abrams - Great Bright Morning](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2Cti12XBw4>Maroon%205%20-%20Sunday%20Morning</a>%0A%0A<a%20href=)


	5. Morning After: I'll Always Say Yes To Anything (You Said)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for bromance, sister-mance(?), and relative-mance(?).
> 
> Not really.
> 
> Also did I mentioned food-mance? That is just a thing to bromance over, y'know...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did I told you guys? Really, _really_ soon right? Here you go!
> 
> Also BROWNIES TO ANY OF YOU GUYS WHO SAW THAT REFERENCE TO THAT ONE FIC!
> 
> And also my love, my heart, and my all to the people who left all those lovely comments and kudos, I just... Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

 

 

“Stiles, come on, don’t do this to me.”

 

Scott banged his knuckles on Stiles’ door, again, and received the same response: silence. Honestly, Scott wouldn’t blame Stiles for it – pre-lunch (literally), although it was already 1 o’clock, was indeed pretty early for talks about life-plans and marriage – but Stiles could’ve at least given Scott the chance to actually explain what he meant by “Be my best man?”

 

 “Stiles, dude. Come on, open the door please…”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

Imagine coming home from like the perfect pseudo-date – no, Stiles corrected himself, that’s definitely a date – and walking not 10 steps away from the front door when you bro-for-life greeted you from the kitchen – but here’s the catch; it’s not a greeting _at all._

 

Scott fucking greeted him from the kitchen with a “Hey, Stiles? How do you feel about being my best man?” while holding a pen and what looked like a list of stuff on a paper.

 

And fuck, doesn’t Scott knows all the way how to make Stiles’ day all stressful and filled with expectation and just, _fuck_. Stiles would demand that him fleeing from the scene and locking himself in his room was a rather justified move.

 

A more justified move than beating Scott to a pulp, so there’s that.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

There was a groan – a very loud groan, almost like a roar – and seconds later a set of heavy stomping feet marched towards the door, and Scott took a few steps back, lest Stiles come and punched him in the face for banging his door. Seconds later, but the door still didn’t open, so Scott stepped forward and was about to knock on the door again – just to make sure everything’s okay – when the door opened so sudden that Scott jumped back in surprise and landed squarely on his ass.

 

“Dude what the _heck_? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

 

Scott fished out his inhaler from his back pocket and hastily took a shot, before the silent wheezing stopped. He looked up but the door was, well, empty – there’s no Stiles. “Stiles?” Scott called as he crawled towards Stiles’ room. He was just to enter the bedroom threshold when Stiles’ voice sounded very near, and Scott peeked into the bedroom and there’s Stiles, sitting on the floor with his back plastered on the wall, his hands cradling his head.

 

“Don’t you dare coming into my room right now, Scott. You sit there on the other side of the wall and we’ll talk. About whatever shit that you’ve done or is about to do.” Stiles’ voice was not harsh, nor was it hard, it was just, um, tired? Like that one time when they Stiles tried to explain why Scott’s having a panic attack and not an asthma attack during one of the lacrosse play-off.

 

Scott crawled back regardless, and seated himself on the floor, directly opposite of Stiles, his legs drawn close to his chest.

 

“So…”

 

Stiles sighed and continued on. “So, I imagine what I felt like when my best friend, my only bro-for-live, greeted me when I came home after I slept God knows where…”

 

“You didn’t sleep at Derek’s?” Scott asked, because well, Derek said Stiles was crashing at his place.

 

“…with a “Hey Stiles, how do feel about being my best man?” How do I feel, Scott? I would feel awesome and honored and damn happy for you if you’d only take it easy on me. I mean, I have my own problem with Derek and….”

 

Scott fell hastily to his knees and dragged his body over the door frame and peeked inside to look at Stiles. “You’re dating Derek?”

 

“…I had like the best first breakfast date with him and then I came home to this – and NO, I am NOT dating him. Yet.” Stiles finished lamely, although even from his perch on the floor Scott could see the flush forming on Stiles’ cheek and ear. Stiles turned his head to scowl at Scott, or what Stiles thought as equivalent as a scowl because that look was just too cute.

 

Scott smiled anyway, and he knew he looked like a stupid puppy with that shit-eating grin on his face, which is whatever because he knew what he heard. “First breakfast date, huh?” Scott asked, and wiggled his eyebrows repeatedly, and that had the respond he was looking for.

 

Stiles groaned and faceplamed himself with both of his hands, but Scott wouldn’t miss that smile on his lips. Scott tried to pull himself up with his hands when Stiles reminded him, “Not allowed inside, Scott.”

 

Scott backed away, until he’s plastered on the other side of the door frame, his back half on air, half on the opened door – from here, he could see Stiles while still being out of the room, or half-outside of the room, but hey, Stiles’ didn’t say anything, so he’s good.

 

Silence fell upon the both of them, and Scott really, _really_ wanted to know about this breakfast date Stiles had with Derek that morning because this is his bro-for-live, and he’d be happy is Stiles’ happy, so he’d have to know about such stuff. Besides, they share almost everything about anything and so such stuff, especially dates, are just too much to not be shared.

 

“So, breakfast date…” Scott sang-song.

 

Stiles groaned again this time, but he turned and faced Scott this time around, and rested his head on the wall. “Stop.” Stiles said.

 

Scott simply smiled, because well, they both know he won’t stop. “Breakfast date, breakfast date, breakfast date with De-rek! Breakfast Date with De-rek!” Scott sang and he broke into song stupid dance move – any dancing that he could do will sitting on the floor was with his hands and upper body, so yeah, there’s that.

 

Stiles tried to lurch forward at Scott, but Scott simply laughed and avoided it effortlessly. Stiles still managed to hit Scott’s legs though, and Scott managed to grab Stiles’ hands and pulled him forward so that he joined Scott on the floor. They both rolled, constraint by the small space of the door frame – all the while Stiles trashing and Scott avoiding.

 

When they both stopped though, Stiles looked at Scott, and somehow that – at that moment – it felt funny, so Scott started laughing. Seconds later though, Stiles joined him, and they both laughed their ass off for as long as they could, before eventually the laughter died down and they both stayed lying on the floor side by side, the sound audible was their heavy breathing.

 

And still, everything felt exactly like home.

 

“So,” Scott started, and Stiles immediately rolled his eyes skyward. “Hey, I saw that!” Stiles smiled anyway, and turned his head towards Scott. Scott smiled back. “Want to tell me what happened this morning? Don’t think I didn’t hear you whistling and humming before you reached the door, because I totally did.”

 

Stiles gasped, and got up on his elbows, looming over Scott. “I did not whistled or hummed anything!”

 

“‘Something Stupid’ and I’m guessing it’s the Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman version since you’re such a sap.”

 

Scott snorted a laugh when Stiles finally remembered that yes, he did whistled and hummed the song at the mention of the song and dropping back to the floor groaning. And yes, that’s a blush there, all the way down to his chest. “See, you’re blushing, meaning it’s true. Stupid Stiles.”

 

Stiles groaned again at that, and tried to cover his exposed neckline and chest by crossing his hands over them. “No,” Stiles said. “ _You’re_ stupid. I’m _smart_ and _intelligent_ and you should _always_ listen to me.” Scott hummed in amusement, “Uh huh. How about you just tell me what happened this morning.”

 

Stiles didn’t say anything at first, just taking in a few deep breaths like he’s trying to calm himself down. Moments later though, Stiles quickly got up and sat cross-legged on the floor, facing Scott and Scott felt obliged to do the same, so he did.

 

“Okay,” Stiles began, “promise me that you’ll shut up and just listen because this is my story and I’ve powered through your freaking sweet love story with Allison, so now is you’re turn.” Scott nodded, and mimed zipping his lips shut and locking them up, and he took one of Stiles’ hands and passed him the invisible key. Stiles grinned back at him, and he threw the key over his shoulder.

 

“Okay, so I slept at Derek’s place. And he changed me into his PJ’s, but only the top, since he was wearing the bottom. Oh my God, there are so many innuendos in that one sentence.” Scott simply nodded, because well, he’d need to look up the meaning of ‘innuendo’ before whatever Stiles said just now made any sense.

 

“And then I remembered cuddling at night, but I think that’s just me dreaming. Speaking of dreaming, did you know that dream-Derek has werewolf as cock? Who would’ve known? Not Stiles, that’s who.”

 

_Wait, werewolf?_

 

“Anyway, I woke up, and Derek’s there, I knocked my head on the bedside drawer, and he carried me over to the bed.” Scott opened his mouth, but Stiles cut him off, “Before you asked anything, I fell off the bed because of the bed sheet.” _Oh, okay_ and Scott nodded.

 

“And then we had breakfast in bed.” Scott smiled at that, and sang out loud “Breakfast Date with De-rek!” on top of his voice. Stiles smacked him upside on the head, but smiled nevertheless. “Yeah, I guessed so. So, there’s breakfast on bed and then he kind of gave me foot rub afterward.”

 

_Wait – foot rub?_

 

“Foot rub,” Scott repeated slowly, bobbing his head in acknowledgement – he knows where this one is going. Stiles sputtered a series of incoherent words, his cheeks taking a dangerous red hue – confirming to Scott’s train of thought, unbeknownst to Stiles. “Interesting,” Scott remarked, both to the combination that is foot rub, Stiles and Derek, and also Stiles’ reaction. Stiles stared at him with his mouth agape when Scott grinned at the thought he’s having. “What?”

 

“Did you moan?”

 

“ _What_?”  
  


“Moan? You know the sound porn stars made when their co-actor hit that sweet spot or did something that they liked, like playing with the nipples or something.” Scott scrunched his face in confusion, because seriously this is _Stiles_ – he ought to know embarrassing stuffs about moan; like maybe how there are different kinds of moan for different kind of reaction or something silly he read about somewhere online – but he guessed being in love brings out the worst of anybody, in Stiles’ case, bringing out his stupid side – _Something Stupid seemed accurate enough_.  

 

Stiles sputtered some more at Scott’s explanation. “Scott,” Stiles said – his voice dead serious, “I know what moaning is.”

  
Scott shrugged, because seriously, _whatever,_ since he knows from first-hand experience that Allison just love it whenever he offers to give her a foot rub. “So, did you moan? Because Allison always did whenever I gave her foot rub. She’d moaned like those time when we made out and I–”

 

“ _Scott!_ ” Stiles shouted, bringing his hands to physically shut Scott’s mouth. _Well played, Scott – well played_. “I seriously don’t want to know about what you did to Allison that made she moaned, okay? You’re my bro, and I love you, but I don’t love you _that way_ , that is just gross, okay?” Scott nodded, Stiles’ hands still on his mouth, and Stiles sighed heavily, his face looking like he could use a day off or two from this roller coaster ride that is his life.

 

“I did, okay? And wow, you know what, this is stupid. Let’s not do this again. _Ever_.”

 

“What? Stiles, come on man! You can’t… You already got to the good part, right? Come on, I knew from my own experience that foot rub always ended in a very, _very_ good way. Okay, you know what, I’ll shut up and I’m going to listen to the whole story without cutting you off ever again, _please,_ just tell me what happened.”

 

Stiles threw a nasty look at Scott, and a frown started to form. “Why do you want to know about it so badly, anyway?”

 

Scott smiled at Stiles, almost shyly, because well, he never thought he’d have to explain something as basic as this, but he guessed doing something like prying into your bros-for-live sex live is kind of questionable and at times weird, but _hey_. “Did you remember that promise we made after that Jackson’s party that you didn’t get invited that we’d always…”

 

“Tell each other the happenings of our live no matter how far away we are.” They both finished that promise together, each saying the exact same words. “Yeah,” Stiles said, “I remembered that promise, because at that time, Dad sent me to some stupid ass summer camp,” Stiles said, reminiscing that summer camp in 2004.

 

“But you told me that that camp counselor was ‘hot as a summer’s day’.” Stiles really did tell him that.

 

Stiles’ reaction was to chuckle at that, and he shook his head in disbelief. “I was 10 at that time Scott, just drop it already!”

 

Scott laughed good-heartedly at that, because well, Stiles spent like the rest of the year lusting over that man and he legit cried when Sheriff refused to send him at the same summer camp for no reason – heck, Stiles actually wasn’t sent to any summer camp the next year anyway, because they both tried out for lacrosse that year and landed their sorry asses into some lacrosse boot camp. “Stiles, don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to distract me.” Stiles was known for opting to distraction as his last resort when this kind of topic are being discussed, and Scott was trying not to figure out what happened to all the first and second and third resorts, because that way lies an epic case of headache.

 

A heavy sigh escaped Stiles’ mouth. “Well, it’s not like I managed to distract you, right?” Scott waited for Stiles, who then seemed like he was determined to finish everything that he’d started. “Well, if you’re thinking that it’ll lead to some glorious morning gay sex, then you’re wrong, because I fled from the scene.”

 

“You _what_?!”

 

“Well – it’s not like. Ugh. Scott, we’re not even really dating. He didn’t tell me that he’s interested in me or not, I just assumed he is – I mean foot rub and breakfast in bed and all that songs he dedicated to me…”

 

“Wait, what songs?”

 

“…and I promised myself no kissy-touchy-feely before the third date, and yes, I consider that breakfast in bed as a date, so that’s only one date, I need two more!” Stiles finished with a heave, his face flushed, and Scott’s not sure whether it’s from embarrassment or from speaking too much and too loud.

 

“So, you’re considering dating Derek?”

 

“YES!” Stiles shouted at Scott’s face, and flop back to the floor, his legs still crossed. “Yes, I want to date the shit out of Derek and have many, _many_ awesome gay sex with him because he’s awesome and I’m awesome and _God_ , what is wrong with me?” Stiles cried out, and scrubbed his face with his hands.

 

Scott patted Stiles’ knee and squeezed it a little. “I think you’re in love.” Scott said.

 

Stiles laughed at that. “No shit, Sherlock.”

 

And as if in cue, Scott’s stomach did a horrible growl, and Scott can feel it vibrating all through his body. Stiles laughed again at that. “And I think you’re starving.”

 

It was Scott’s turn to laugh at that. “No shit, Batman.”

 

Scott helped Stiles get up to his feet, and together they trudged towards the kitchen. Stiles hugged Scott’s shoulder and he squeezed Stiles’ side in return. “Thanks,” Stiles said. Scott nodded, because well, he did that with half the intention of acquiring materials to humiliate Stiles with (since Stiles have like tons of them already on Scott), but he still did it out of mercy for his bro. Scott tightened his grip on Stiles’ waist, and Stiles seemed to take that as a ‘no problem’.

 

“Now,” Stiles said, opening random cupboards and eyeing the content of the refrigerator, “what’s your opinion on Shepherd’s pie?”

 

“What’s my opinion? Well first off, I love food…”

 

Stiles didn’t stopped laughing even as he started on getting his hands dirty with flour.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

Since it’s a Sunday afternoon and Derek was not up for some food hunting session at the supermarket (plus the whole Stiles’ debacle that happened earlier today, _shit_ ) he ordered two boxes of pizza, mainly because it’s Sunday.

  
The other reason would be because he’s such a stupid douche bag who can’t get his act right and just asked Stiles out, even when he knew Stiles was pretty much into him as he is into Stiles – thus pizza.

 

 He’d already called in 50 minutes before, so right now the delivery guy was beyond late – ‘30 minutes guarantee’ bull shit. Plus, free pizza, sure that’ll be good for first date. Or is it second already? _Damn_. He was still nursing a can of cheep beer in the living room (read: frustration) when he’s doorbell rang and then there’s a knock on the door.

 

Derek took a large, finishing gulp from his can, and heaved himself up from the couch, crushing the can and throwing it to the trash can he got near the main door. He didn’t bother looking through the eye-piece – the only person he’s expecting was the delivery guy, and that guy can hope for no tips, thank you very much.

 

Which is why he was so surprised when instead of the delivery guy, fucking Peter Hale was there instead, with the two boxes of what he hoped the pizzas that he’d ordered, and a very smarmy, foxy grin plastered on his face.

 

“So,” Peter said in lieu of hello, “where’s Stiles?”

 

_Oh. Fucking. Hale._

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

“You did what?!” Erica’s voice was loud even with the ear piece held far away from her ear. “Oh my God.”

 

Laura smiled, because well, at least she knew Erica wouldn’t mind doing what she did all by _herself,_ if only she thought about it earlier. “I told Peter about Stiles. You know, Peter Hale, probably pedophiliac or maybe he just loves younger people because he’s a pervert? Might or might not have tried to get into your panties, and just like the rest of the men in the Hale family, plays for both teams,” Laura answered.

 

 “I know who Peter Hale is, Laura, and no shit; he tried to grope me when I’m in my miniskirts like since I first started wearing one, you know?” Erica’s laughter carried over the line, and Laura found herself laughing too, because she knows exactly what Erica’s talking about. Peter is just that, a human lover – just a little bit on the physical side and very, _very_ touchy-feely about _everything_.

 

“I just didn’t think you’d do that to Derek. I mean, he’s _Derek_ , you’re _baby_ brother, _and_ my best friend!” Erica continued on.

 

Laura chuckled at that. “Well, we all know I’m doing this to help his somewhat shy and socially awkward ass,” Laura replied, because it’s true.

 

Plus, they both know for a fact that Derek can be the best when there’s a competition on the same field with him, aiming at getting the same prize. And boy, wouldn’t Stiles be the _best prize ever_?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic List
> 
>  
> 
> [Wet Hot Werewolf Summer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/495086) by the talented [thefarofixer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thefarofixer/pseuds/thefarofixer). 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Song list
> 
>  
> 
> [Robbie Williams & Nicole Kidman - Something Stupid](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FayNQo4VZr8)
> 
>  
> 
> Incubus - I Miss You, as [covered by the ever lovely Yuna Zarai](http://youtu.be/0RWFlfSiiKc?t=47s).


	6. Flashbacks Suck So Much...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever the title said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...
> 
> So. This have taken me a year and a half to finish. Or maybe less, I've lost count in the middle of it. And yup, I suck so bad. But truth be told, this chapter was done two weeks after that last chapter was up, but still I dunno what happened between then and now - probably life, most definitely my insecurities. 
> 
> Oh and it was supposed to be longer, with even more explanation on what's happening and whatnot, but I kinda took it out because I suck at writing and I have some other stuff to write, namely assignments and a hell lot of letters. haaaizzzz.....
> 
> ALSO IMPORTANT NOTE: I don't know if Ian Bohen actually sings, but if he doesn't, I dunno, you can just imagine it or anything. I mean, singing Tyler Hoechlin much?
> 
> AGAIN, I REALLY APPRECIATE ALL THE KUDOS AND COMMENTS THAT YOU GUYS LEFT FOR ME, 'KAY? I just wished I could give kudos for wasting your limited kudos on me, because seriously, you guys are just awesome. Now, to the fic!

 

 

“Stiles, are you sure this is going to work?”

 

Stiles fused about with Scott’s bow tie for the last time, pressing it down so that it will just _stay_ straight. “Of course, it will work, trust me.” Stiles smiled reassuringly at Scott, who looked like he’s about to puke and cry at the same time – it’s a nasty look. “Keep in your mind, you’re doing this for Allison,” Stiles said, patting Scott’s arm. “You can do this. Now, do you remember all that I’ve told you?”

 

Scott patted his breast pocket, and produced a worn-out piece of paper. “Yeah,” he said, opening the folded out paper and scanning through the content. “But like half of it. Do you think they’ll be mad if I look at the paper to answer any of their questions?”

 

Stiles did a half-turn, and glared at Scott. “ _Half of it_? What about the other half? Oh my God, you spent last night having phone-sex with Allison – I knew it.”

 

To his credit, Scott did look guilty for doing so – although Stiles know for sure he was even guiltier about not feeling guilty. But still, remembering half of it won’t bring any good – and Scott’s percentage of failing this interview was already high even with all of the answers memorized. “No, you know what, just answer whatever you feel like answering, but please, please, _please_ do use that brain of yours, I know you have one somewhere up there.” Scott nodded, and Stiles did a last attire-check.

 

Bow-tie: _Check_.

White shirt, black vest, black trousers: _Check_.

Black shoes: _Check_.

Combed hair: _Che_ – _what the_ hell _?_

  
“Dude,” Stiles cried, “What happened to your hair?” Scott’s hair was somewhere between a bird’s nest and a beehive, which really translated into a ‘ _huge fucking mess_ ’. Scott, that asshole, groaned. “I don’t like wearing hair product, it messes up with my hair.”

 

“What do you even mean it messes up with your hair? You can always wash it back, you moron.” Stiles started to pace back and forth while massaging his own temple, and God, Scott is so _stupid_. Stiles took in a deep breath to calm himself, and it was not until Scott mimicked him that Stiles finally calmed down. “Okay,” Stiles said, “You know what; it’s too late for anything now. Let’s just walk into that bar and see if you can score that job, because I swear to God I’ve done my best, you just make sure you score the shit out of them and fucking get that job and make me a proud man.” Stiles half-hug, half patted Scott on the shoulders, and smiled when Scott made a disgusting face at him.

 

“Okay, _Mom_.”

 

Let’s just say that Stiles would probably punch him better and harder if Scott doesn’t have to go for an interview afterwards.

 

 

=========================

 

 

_Last Sunday…_

 

 

The two of them were lying on the couch, both of their feet propped up on the coffee table, silently watching the TV – it was the season finale of the old Doctor Who. Ace’s hand emerged from the surface of the water with Excalibur, and there’s something about that scene that helped catalyzing Stiles’ neurons connection and that one important thing that he was supposed to be even more worried about suddenly came back to the front of his mind.

 

“Woah.”

 

Stiles leaned forward to sit up straight and slapped Scott’s shoulder hard. Scott barely gave Stiles an eye, before staring blankly right back at the screen. “Scott!” Stiles called, and slapped his shoulder again, for good measures. “Dude, this is serious.”

 

“What is serious?”

 

“Okay, so you’re going to marry Allison. Do you have any money?” It was this very point that slipped right off Stiles’ mind the moment it hit him that he’s about to lose Scott and his id telling him that being angry at Scott is more appropriate after a morning of blue balls with Derek. “You’d have to have like shitload of money, Scott. A lot.”

 

As the idea of just how much shitload probably means (which is, by the way, _shit-ton_ ), Scott turned to face Stiles with an extremely horrified look. “Stiles,” Scott’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Stiles knew at that moment, Scott is more worried about finding money than finding a reasonable  option to find that money. “Stiles, I…”

 

Stiles hold up a hand to Scott’s face, and it effectively stopped Scott from saying anything else. “Dude, don’t worry. I might have a way out for you.”

 

And so began the plan: the Bartender Scott McCall.

 

 

=========================

 

 

The first thing that Stiles saw when they both reached the bar was that there were a lot of nice cars outside. And by nice, he’s talking about a freaking Porsche 911 Turbo S Carbiolet, white metallic finish; a huge badass Range Rover Autobiography V8 Supercharged with a super sleek bluish-metallic finish, and a freaking blood red Bentley Continental GT V8.

 

“ _Stiles_ ,” and Stiles could literally hear Scott swallowing his own saliva, “Is that,” another loud gulp, “Is that a – um, a Bent–”

 

“Oh, God. Yes – yes, it _freaking_ is. Let’s go inside before I pounce that car.” Beside him, Scott, who was gripping Stiles’ shoulder hard, made a move forward towards the car. “Can I just – um, touch it…”

 

“ _Scott_! Inside, now! Move, move, _move_.” Stiles turned around and physically pushed him inside – Scott was still mumbling about the Bentley though, but at least now they’re inside, so hopefully they can recover from their automobile-gasm.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

Stiles would blame Scott and his life-questioning brain – or maybe it was the automobile-gasm they had outside – but when Scott remarked that the bar was empty, Stiles actually stopped pushing Scott forward and started to see around him and yeah, the bar was indeed empty.

 

It wasn’t until Stiles’ brain started to function normally again and he checked his wristwatch. “Of course it’s empty – it’s freaking 3PM on a freaking Wednesday, it wouldn’t be packed with people, Scott.” Stiles thought about hitting Scott upside on his head, but instead he saw that Scott was staring with his mouth agape to the general area of the stage. Stiles opened his mouth to explain to Scott that yeah, the bar had a stage – only that he turned his head towards the stage and then saw what it was that Scott was staring at.

 

Or rather who…

 

On the stage was a man, late 30’s sitting on Derek’s bench – since the only person that ever sat on it was Derek and nobody else. Stiles was about to call him out, asking him who he was (because Stiles do shits like this even though he’s no one but just a mere regular there) when the ancient jukebox started to blast some 60’s tune.

 

And then that guy started to sing…

 

_*_

_At last, my love has come along_  
My lonely days are over  
And life is like a song  
Oh, yeah, at last…

*

 

Scott nudged Stiles on the ribs with his pointy elbow, and Stiles slapped his arm away. “What?” Stiles was annoyed not because Scott’s interrupting him from listening to the guy singing – no, it was Scott’s pointy elbow. Stupid, pointy…

 

 _Nose_.

 

“He’s staring at you…”

 

*  
 _The skies above are blue_  
My heart was wrapped up in clovers  
The night I looked at you  
I found a dream that I could speak to  
A dream that I can call my own…

_*_

 

“No, he’s not…”

 

Of course he’s not staring at Stiles, look at him, he’s singing with his eyes closed. Stupid Scott, how can someone sings and stares at the same time? No one can…

 

No one except for Derek, of course. Derek, who had done that a whole lot of time before…

 

*  
 _I found a thrill to rest my cheek to_  
A thrill that I have never known  
Oh, yeah when you smile, you smile  
Oh, and then the spell was cast  
And here we are in heaven  
For you are mine, at last.

*

 

Stiles didn’t know why, but he ended up clapping for that guy, albeit a little awkwardly. Maybe it was courtesy, or maybe it was conformity (Scott was clapping too), but whatever it was, Stiles honestly thought that that random guy deserved at least a clap – his voice was actually kind of good.

 

It’s actually really good, but Stiles don’t want to say so because he really didn’t want to be falling for everybody who sang to him in a sexy and smooth voice.  

 

Scott was staring at something again, although this time not at Random Guy – who was climbing down the stage. Somewhere near the bar area, Stiles saw Derek, who was glaring at Random Guy, most probably with a murderous intention or two. They all heard a chuckle, a very happy chuckle in fact, that caused Scott and Stiles to snap their attention back to Random Guy, who was sauntering his merry way towards the two of them. He threw a glance at Derek, over his shoulder, and Derek’s face gloomed a shade darker, and that caused Random Guy to snort a laugh – like he’s feeding off Derek’s sullenness.

Random Guy stopped a few feet away from Stiles and Stiles had the privilege of witnessing the transformation of Random Guy’s grin from polite to _fucking_ seducing – and only God knows how Stiles even know how ‘seducing’ supposed to look like. And only that, Stiles also noticed how he was tilting his body towards Stiles, a sure sign that he was not really that interested in Scott.

 

Or maybe he was definitely way more interested in Stiles than Scott. Stiles seriously haven’t realized any _major_ changes in his body that made him you’re your normal, next-door male to a fuckable hotty, but damn all these people trying to win his attention. _Damn them all_.

 

Random Guy offered his hand, and not to be deemed rude, Stiles shook the proffered hand. “Peter,” Random Guy introduced himself without being prompted. Stiles opened his mouth to say his name, but Peter shut him up with a finger to his lip, pressed firmly to his gaping mouth, and _what the fuck, that is just plain rude_. “Shh, let me guess.” Stiles was about to retort back with a ‘good luck with that’ when that guy tapped his chin with his forefinger, before pointing at Stiles and said, “Stiles, is it?”

 

Scott, who was eyeing the whole thing innocently, actually clapped stupidly at that, like it was a magic trick and so _fucking amazing_. “Dude,” he stage whispered to Stiles, still clapping, “he knows your name!”

 

Stiles tilted his head towards Scott, instantly dislodging the finger on his mouth to glare at Scott and he was about to slap Scott’s head when he noticed that he’s hand was still in Peter’s grip. He was seconds from yanking his hand away from Peter when Derek suddenly appeared next to Stiles, angrily eyeing their linked hand – although it’s more like Stiles’ hand, caught in a deathly-grip by Peter the Creepy, Random Guy. Before Stiles managed to say anything though, Derek dragged Peter away by the arm, the same one that was gripping Stiles’ hand, effectively dislodging his hold on Stiles and heading to the back to the stage, leaving Stiles and Scott alone again.

 

Stiles eyed the two retreating form and wondered who heck was Peter to Derek. Not that he was jealous or anything – Stiles for one knows that Derek have the hot for him, so creepy maybe-an-ex is probably a just a tad bit too cliché for their version of a love story. He saw Scott inching closer to him from the corner of his eyes. “Dude,” Scott said, as he leaned towards Stiles’ personal space. “Is it just me, or is Derek looking kind of, I don’t know, jealous?” Stiles almost gave himself a whiplash when he turned his head to gape at Scott, who had his thinking-face on.

 

“Whatdoyoumean _jealous_?”

 

Scott just shrugged back at him and walked to the bar, and leaving Stiles behind, his mind a jumble mess trying to figure out how Peter, Derek, and jealousy even relates.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

Boyd was the only person currently in the bar who is at least capable of handling Scott’s interview – not the owner of the Red Moon.  

 

Stiles knows it’s kind of weird, but Stiles’ not really that into a friend with the real owner of Red Moon Bar. Heck, he’s not even sure who actually owned the bar. For all of the four months that he actually spent there, Stiles had known this much; (1) Red Moon Bar is owned by a male (a hot one, as told by all the bartenders and _Derek_ ), (2) Erica and that dude shares the same story as Stiles and Scott – they’ve known each other since they’re in diapers, and (3) Derek explicitly told Stiles that he wouldn’t mind shagging the owner of the bar. _Yep_ , he said that to Stiles, in those exact same words.

 

So yeah, Stiles had been going to that bar for almost 4 months now and still he doesn’t know shit about the owner but one thing was for sure though – whoever that guy is, he sure is a very good and trusting man: he leave his subordinates to run the business for him and he’s not really bothered with the business progress or anything.

 

 And also letting some random ass guys coming in and sing stupid love songs from that old jukebox that probably cost him a fortune.

 

But whatever – if the owner really doesn’t care much about his business, he would probably have closed it by now and Stiles would have to go through his life without another complimentary drinks from the over-friendly bartenders and having songs dedicated to him for no reasons at all.

 

Anyway, Scott’s in the Personnel Only Area, the only area in the bar that Stiles was not allowed to go into – which is weird, knowing that he had the privilege of actually using the female restroom even when he explained to Erica that no, he have no hidden kinks about going to the female’s and masturbating in there because he’s _not 15, okay?_ So Stiles sat all alone by himself at the bar, which was still empty and played some random games he have in his phone. Derek and Peter the Random Guy had long finished their discussion, and had both went out of the bar to answer a call – although Stiles was sure that Peter only went out to eavesdrop on Derek’s call like the creeper that he is.

 

Stiles was deep in trying to steer Mr. Snot from  colliding with the virus infested wall when a female voice called for him.

 

“ _Stiles?_ ”

 

If he was not so engrossed in his game, Stiles would know instantly who the hell just called his name. Heck, he’d probably be sputtering nonsense about why _Lydia Martin_ is calling for him, is he dead and did he actually landed his ass in some kind of Stiles’ heaven?

 

But as it is, he looked up from his game, and fucking choked on his own saliva, and dropped his phone on the cold, hard floor. Of course, he didn’t want to give his attention to anything else now that _Lydia Martin_ was in front of him, beaming and smiling and being utter beautiful, talking about stuff like “Oh my God, it have been ages!” and “I _miss_ you!”.

 

Like, _fucking seriously_.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

So, Peter _accidentally_ sang a song to Stiles and Scott (“Wait, is Scott the other guy standing next to Stiles? I can’t really remember him.”)

 

And Derek was okay with that – he _fucking_ was. In fact, Peter can sing as many ass-love-songs as he can come up with to Stiles or whoever he wanted to and Derek won’t care one bit about it – he _fucking_ won’t.

 

So Laura can just shut her trap about it already.

 

“ _Oh my God_! Did he sing it with his hot-bed-eyes? Oh my God, he did, didn’t he? Oh my God, I swear if I was Stiles I’d be swooned right off my feet! Oh my God, Derek, you have to sing to Stiles like that and see if it works. Oh, and you’d have to use that bed-eyes too, oh my God!”

 

Seriously, that is just way too much ‘oh my God’s fitted into that one breath. Derek sighed heavily and rubbed his pulsing temple – talking to Laura can be (very) tiring at times, especially once she got into that over-excited-females-only zone with the shrieking and screaming and all. “Laura,” Derek forced himself with his so-called ‘inner voice’, “how the fuck did you know about that?”

 

At first, Laura just laughed – her default reaction to any of Derek’s ‘silly questions’ – before she sighed as though she was done teasing Derek – Derek knew she wasn’t. “Oh, cheer up sourwolf!” Uh huh, she was so not done with Derek, but one thing was for sure – only Stiles ever called him sourwolf; Laura’s favorite is De-de and sourpuff. “It’s Erica, isn’t it?”

 

Laura took in a breath, like she’s about to give a sermon, and Derek instantly knew what she’s about to say. “A lady’s secret is worth…”

 

“‘A thousand men’, I know that,” a huff, “Well, fuck you.”

 

Laura’s laughter accompanied him as he saw from the corner of his eyes Peter, who was busy eyeing the _clear_ Wednesday traffic – which reminded him of that one thing that he wanted to ask Laura. “Hey, I have something to ask you.”

 

Laura hummed her consent, and Derek walked a little bit further away from the bar, glancing back to Peter – not wanting him to eavesdrop on his conversation. “What is Peter doing here, actually?”

 

There was a short static-white-noise effect, before Laura’s voice came back in a notch louder than before. “What do you mean what is he doing there? He’s been already there for 3 days, Derek! Can’t you just, I don’t know, _ask_ him yourself?” Derek rolled his eyes in exasperation, although he’s well aware that Laura couldn’t really see it. “Laura, can you just answer my question?”

 

“Derek, can you just ask him? He won’t bite you know.”

 

Derek heaved a heavy sigh, and tried his best not to look as tired as he felt that early in the day. “Look. I’ve already asked him – he mentioned something about a wedding and shit about request from a girl he met in Paris, that’s all. So for God’s sake Laura, can you just _please_ tell me why he’s here, because I for once really want to know why!”

 

The only reply that came from the other side was a another static sound, before Laura’s heavy breathing came through the line – she’s probably sighing on her side as well. “ _Fine_ ,” she said. “You’re such a jerk, Derek. Yes, he’s there for a wedding. Yes, it was requested, although from what I heard from Erica it’s more like the poor lady was _forced_ to agree willingly.”

 

Derek’s eyebrows burrowed automatically at the mention of Erica’s name. “ _Erica_? What does she have to do with this girl?”

 

Laura’s chuckle sounded as clear as a sunny day, and it reminded Derek about that one time when Laura’s gay BFF tried to date him and all Laura did was laughed whenever she saw him. “Lydia Martin,” Laura said.

 

“Who?”

 

“Lydia Martin, Erica’s cousin, dumbass. And here I thought you’d remember her thanks to your little crush over her when you were 8.”

  
Derek tried rolling the name on his own tongue, wondering why the name sounds so familiar, like he could almost picture just how this Lydia girl, Erica’s cousin (apparently) would look like…

 

*

_Stiles’ inebriated face got redder and brighter, a contented sigh escaping his mouth. Stiles tapped Derek’s shoulder, and Derek turned to see him smiling stupidly at him, his pretty mouth curved in a pretty smile. When Stiles tried to lean towards Derek and failed, though, Derek jumped down the stool and stood beside Stiles, holding him still and steady._

_“My hero,” Stiles said, and Derek tried not to stop himself from chuckling along to Stiles’ giggle. “Y’know, I used to try to be…to be a hero.” Stiles tried to wave it off, but Derek knew one thing about Stiles, and that is he won’t stop until it’s all out. So, he asked instead, “Like Batman?”, to which Stiles whooped and demanded a high-five from Derek._

_“Batman! I wanted to become Batman. But – um, it’s more like someone’s Batman, not like for the whole city.” Stiles was surprisingly still coherent – and verbal – even in his state of intoxication. Derek nudged Stiles’ shoulder with his knuckle. “Who’s that lucky girl?” he asked, and tried as he might, he himself can hear the tiniest bit of jealousy that seeped through, causing him to flinch at it._

_“Lydia Martin. The prettiest girl ever since the 8 th grade – and she still is to me. Strawberry blond, 5’3, and eyes like a freaking tigress.” Derek laughed, and Stiles continued to giggle happily, continuing on and on about Lydia Martin, that goddess that Stiles fell in love with since his 8th grade._

*

 

Derek turned back, to go back to the bar, to talk to Stiles, to do freaking something, when he saw her.

 

It was like time got slower – or Derek somehow can perceive time even faster than normal. The bar’s front door burst open, and Stiles jumped down to the pavement, laughing and smiling, looking way brighter than Derek had ever saw him. Derek can literally felt how his facial muscle worked to form a smile – a smile to rival Stiles, impossible.

 

And then he saw how Stiles’ hand was holding something – someone else’ hand. A girl’s hand. A strawberry blond girl…

 

_“…Strawberry blond, 5’3, and eyes like a freaking tigress….”_

_“Lydia Martin. The prettiest girl ever since the 8 th grade…”_

_“I can love her to death!”_

 

“Lydia...”

 

 

=========================

 

 

_Last Sunday…_

 

 

“Peter?” Derek picked up the last remaining pizza and lazily bit around the outer crust. Peter picked up his can of beer and made a loud slurping noise, before finally looking straight at Derek with a bored look and hummed his response. “Why are you here?”

 

Peter’s face changed from bored to a fucking _sly-looking devil_ in a heartbeat. “You mean besides meeting this lovely Stiles of yours?” Derek glared at him, and Peter continued on smiling like it was nothing. When it became apparent that Peter was not going to answer him, Derek pointed the pizza at him. “My question, Peter.”

 

Peter – who seemed like he could go on smiling like the devil for his whole life – took a deep breath and with it, a huge bite from his pizza, the very same pizza that he had since the first box. “Haven’t you heard,” Peter said, leaning forward and staring gamely at Derek, “there’s a huge wedding coming to town, and I’m going to crash it.”

 

Let it be known that Derek was not fazed by that statement. “Seriously? You're going to crash a wedding?” Derek asked as calmly as he could because he really was calmed. But still, even though Derek kind of hate Peter, crashing a wedding is definitely way too much - even for a sly-looking devil like Peter.

 

Peter, that sly fox, rolled his eyes but smiled still. "Oh, yes. I'm going to go there with my black suit and guns ablazing, and I'll shoot the pastor or whoever it is that's handling the ceremony, and I'll kidnap the bride, and together we'll rule the world." Derek was still not fazed by any of the words used in that little fantasy of Peter ( _guns ablazing_ , seriously), and so he took a huge bite of his pizza, and chewed lazily while he stared at Peter's face, bored to his core.

 

"Ugh, you're boring, Derek." With that, Peter got up and moved to the living room, yelling over his shoulder about his stuff coming that evening and how he’s going to set up a workstation on the only table in the living room, if Derek really doesn’t mind (he does, but it’s a fight he can’t win over anyway).

 

Well.

 

He was just about to fold the pizza boxes in half to throw them out when Peter peeked into the kitchen with a huge smile on his face. "Oh, I forgot to mention - the wedding is exactly one month after this, so we'll have a lot of time to bond." Derek was still not fazed by that, damn it, but he can't stopped his hands from shaking with pure rage at the thought of having to face Peter for the next one month of his life. It is probably best if Derek can get rid of Peter, or at least find him some other place, like a hotel or something, with good enough reason to make him stay at the hotel for rest of his time here. For now, Derek settled for some quirky and sarcastic statement to throw at Peter - something that Stiles would probably said to someone he really doesn't like - when Peter clapped his hands and pointedly grinned at Derek. “Oh, and I can’t _wait_ to meet your Stiles.”

 

 _Fast_. He need to make Peter go away _faster_ than ever.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone interested to be my friend and/or beta?
> 
>  
> 
> ==============================
> 
> Song list.
> 
>  
> 
> Etta James - At Last
> 
> Demi Lovato - You're My Only Shorty (


	7. PUBLLIC NOTICE: ABANDONED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS JUST A KIND PUBLIC NOTICE, TO YOU KIND READERS!

 

Dear kind readers, stumbled-upon-ers, and also subscribers.

 

I am sorry to inform you guys that this fic is now abandoned. I've reached that decision after much discussion with my friends, both in real life and online, and where majority of said friends had advised me to abandon this fic. 

 

BUT FEAR NOT!

 

The main reason that they advised me to do so was because of what I told them - and that is the REVAMP! Like I've mentioned previously, I am going to take this fic and edit the shit out of it and make it better - well guess what? I did, but after that the fic was like not even remotely recognizable from the earlier version, so that's why I'm going to abandon this one and post a new one.

 

Right at the moment I'm finishing up the first chapter as we speak. I've created this 20 pages worth of planning including - goals for each chapters, chapters breakdown, and also things that I need to make sure are in the whole fic. I know, very well planned out. 

 

THE ONLY PROBLEM is that I'm still looking for a beta or two. I've posted on tumblr a week ago about wanting one and sadly, my post seemed to go straight to the back in the 'beta' tag thanks to all those gamers and beta fish owners. *bummer* SO IF ANY OF YOU GUYS (I know there's one, but he/she/it never reply or anything, but whatevs) ARE INTERESTED IN BECOMING MY BETA AND ONE OF MY EXCLUSIVE ONLINE FRIENDS, BE SURE TO VISIT MY TUMBLR AND LEAVE ME AN ASK WITH THIS EXACT SENTENCE BECAUSE WHY NOT?

 

'Hey Raen! I saw this thing and then I was like ohmaigawd and then... Here's my email <insert your email here>'

 

Right at the moment I'm thinking about at most two betas, although I have no idea why, but mostly because two heads are better than one, and since I already know mine is a train-wreck, I guess I do need two. BUT! I might get persuaded. Fair warning this is a first come first serve basis, so early birds, come with stomach hungry because I got fat worms to feed ya with.

 

Sincerely,

 

Raen.

www.hiimraen.tumblr.com


End file.
